


Ripped Stitches

by ForgottenDreamofFlames



Series: Weird Shit Invades John's Life [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bad stuff happens to John, Bro and Dirk are different people, Fluff and Angst, Heinoustuck AU, Heinoustuck Dave, Illustrations, It's JohnDave I swear, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor gore later on, One sided Bro/John, Possible triggers will be listed at begining of chapter, Psychological Trauma, Stridercest - Freeform, Tags will be updated as needed, Victim Blaming, just Bro being a creep in general, multiple POVs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:32:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 34,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgottenDreamofFlames/pseuds/ForgottenDreamofFlames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave, otherwise known as Subject DS12-395, has escaped from confinement and has made his new home in Seattle. He doesn't do much, just watch people from the trees, at least until somebody sees him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dave: Escape ==>

Escape.

The single impulse dominates your mind, all other thoughts pushed to the side and paling in comparison. You lash out at your  ~~caretakers~~  captors with your claws, already slick with your own blood. You hate them, you hate everything about them. From their tests and needles to their pristine white labcoats (more red than anything else now, heh).They die quickly at your hands, their blood streaking your black feathers with crimson.

You dart through the building's hallways, breath coming in ragged gasps as you feel the stitches holding you together coming starting to come apart. You ignore it and press yourself to run faster, on all fours now. Pain was no stranger to you. Your bare feet slap against the white tile, leaving smears of black tinged blood in your wake and your nails marring the shiny surface of the floor with deep scratches. In your mad dash, you knock over a shiny metal table and the glasses and bottles on it topple to the ground, shattering a glass of something particularly foul smelling, it's contents now set alight by the sparks of your steel talons raking against metal.

You scramble away from the quickly spreading fire and round a corner, your wing glancing off the wall as you move, and there it is, your chance at freedom. A window, tinted and perfectly clean, just a few feet away at the end of the hall. It's such a contrast to the chaos and heat behind you. You hurtle forward, throwing yourself at the glass as hard as you can. Your bones protest with a sickening crunch, the sound resonating from somewhere in your torso, probably broken ribs, but you're too full of adrenaline to feel any more than a dull ach in your chest as the glass shatters and you topple out into dark open air.

The window was at least six stories off the ground. You weren't expecting that.

You snap out your wings and flap them frantically, only somewhat slowing your descent when, miraculously, you catch an errant updraft and you hold your wings steady, now gliding downward instead of spiraling out of control in a metaphorical ball of flames. Steady, steady. You hold back the urge to flap again and you're nearly to the ground, a dingy parking parking lot filled with bits of litter and a few stray cats looking for food in the trashcans.

You fall suddenly, the previously supporting air dropping you like a rock. You hiss when you lose a layer of skin off your knees to the concrete. That adrenaline was fading fast and your actions would catch up with you soon, in more ways than one. You get to your feet and hazard a glance around before stretching your blood-spattered wings out and flexing them experimentally. They seemed good to go, no noticeable injuries other than a few cuts, and most likely functional, if your wingspan was anything to go by. They held you up for a few second before, so why not actual flying?

Dave: Test out your totally badass wings ==>

Dave? Who's Dave? You are Subject DS12-395, and while you suppose your wings could be considered badass, now just wasn't the time for that. You decide to properly test them out later, you had more pressing matters to deal with at the moment, namely, absconding the fuck out of this place.

Subject DS12-395: Abscond the fuck out of this place ==>

Now that's something you can do. You take one last look at the building behind you, flames now licking up the side, then run full tilt in the opposite direction. Back on all fours, you sprint through the chilly night air with no particular destination in mind other than away from  _there._

As you leap over a dumpster in an alley you hear a scream. You pause in your mad dash turn to the origin of the noise; it's a pretty young woman somewhere in her mid-twenties holding what looks like a can of pepper spray. You stand to try and see what's wrong, but duh, you're what's wrong in this picture. You probably look hellish in your generic torn and bloodied clothing, because, well, that would be a little off-putting on anyone. It's probably the wings and talons that scared her, or maybe it was the sixteenth century style plague-doctor mask stitched to your face. Yeah, it was probably that. Whatever; as long as she wasn't trying to kill you, you couldn't give less of a fuck about what she was doing.

When she frantically tries to grab for her phone and call for help, you flashstep over to her and gently place your hands on either side of her head, almost caressing her face with your blackened hands, then sharply jerk it to a ninety degree angle, a loud  _crack_ echoing through the night. As long as she wasn't trying to kill you or get you caught, you amend. Not wanting to attract any more attention, you dump the body in the dumpster, conveniently placed just a few steps away. Ha, dump it in the dumpster. Did that qualify as a pun? Probably not, but it's still funny. You wonder why the woman was even back here in the first place. Oh well, doesn't matter anymore.

Subject DS12-395: Hide in the forest==>

Why would you hide in the forest? Are there even forests near here? You decide to get a better vantage point for yourself so you can get a feel for your surroundings. You climb on top of the dumpster you just used and hook your hands around the metal bars of the fire escape next to it, scurrying up the side of it as your wings wouldn't have fit on the inner part and this way was faster. Upon reaching the top, you leap off and manage to grab the edge of the roof. You hang there suspended for a moment before bracing your feet against the graffitied wall and push off while pulling yourself upward, allowing you to climb up onto the roof. You brush yourself off as you turn to get a look around. You were right on the edge of the city, fairly close to some suburbs. Perched on the edge of the building you could see quite a bit better. You decide you like high up places. You don't see any forests but there's a nice park not too far off in the distance, with what looks like quite a few trees.

You vault off the roof, easily clearing the distance to the next building. When you reach a distance too large to jump across, you simply leap to the ground two stories below. By now you could clearly see the park. It was bigger from here than it had looked initially and there were more than enough trees to suit your needs.

By now you could hear the wailing sirens of police and firetrucks as they rushed to aid the place that had contained your own personal hell. Hopefully everyone inside is dead before help gets there. The thought of the the people there slowly burning alive almost makes you smile.

You hide in the forest. You take your time wandering through the trees, which you guess could qualify as a small forest. Light is now starting to creep up over the horizon, coloring the sky shades of red and pink. You prefer the dark and the shelter it provides.

Folding your wings and tucking them neatly against your back, you scale one of the biggest trees and make yourself comfortable in the top branches, which rustle slightly when you move. You don't even mind the sticky pine needles since they hide you from the view of anyone who isn't directly beneath you. Funnily enough, this is the safest you've felt in a while.


	2. Subject DS12-395: Be at ease your new home==>

You aren't completely at ease here in the park despite it having been a year or so since you escaped. There are far too many people that frequent it for that, even if watching them is your main source of entertainment.

You take some form of pride in being able to guess and figure out the personal lives of those who visit often. For example, the old bird lady, she visits every other Tuesday to feed the ridiculous amount of birds that do nothing but shit everywhere. She's a walking clichè and stereotype with her obscenely large, floppy, and pink sunhat. No, it's  _salmon_ , she would say to anybody who said a word about it, which amused you to no end. She was retired but well off with her rich, albeit cheating husband(which she totally knew about but didn't care enough to put an end to). She used to be a florist in Missouri until a man, now her husband, had swept her off her feet and they married within a year. She also hated how much it rained here, but told these things to nobody but the pigeons that plagued the city, and since you didn't have much else to do, you liked to listen in on the local gossip. You did this sort of thing with every person who visited more than two times; it was like watching bad soap operas, and you just couldn't stop. Well, you imagine that's what it would be like if you ever watched soap operas. Or if you had access to tv of any kind for that matter.

You've no fucking clue how you know about half the things you do, like soap operas or how to read, since even your earliest memories were in Scratch Laboratories. That's what the company that owns the building you'd inadvertently burned to the ground. You'd learned it's name through a young couple excitedly chattering about it as they passed below the trees.

You're currently sprawled out on the thick branch of an oak tree, an arm lazily hanging off the side, busy observing two new people who had just started coming here only recently, but often enough to pique your interest. A boy of maybe nineteen and a young girl who looked to be about five or so. The boy had black hair, tan skin, and rectangular glasses, which the little blond girl in pigtails took great joy in stealing and running off with. This would incite a long chase and eventually the boy would scoop her up in his arms and tickle her mercilessly until she let go of his glasses, both of them giggling by that point. They came here every few days, no real schedule unfortunately; you enjoyed their presence for some reason and you looked forward to it. From their behavior, you had at first thought that they were they were brother and sister, but you had seen that the girl always seemed to leave with either a sour looking woman in a suit, or an equally sour looking man, both of which would hand the boy some money before tugging the young child towards the street to be picked up by a taxi, so it was much more likely that he was simply her babysitter, with no actual blood ties between them. After being paid the boy would hail a taxi himself and wouldn't return until a few days later, always with the girl.

Today was no different from the others at first, people came, people left, and you watched it all happen. After the black-haired boy had been paid and the parents left with their child, the boy waving and shouting, " _Goodbye Casey!_ " to the girl, he did something unexpected. He broke routine and turned on his heel from the curb, striding back in your direction and pulling a small paperback book from his coat as he went. You realize too late what his destination is: the tiny bench right fucking beneath where you were lounging about. You don't so much as twitch when he sits down; he would easily hear any rustling and if he just looked up, he would see you peering down at him, in all your blood spattered glory.

You lay still, silently willing him to leave. He doesn't. He takes his sweet time finding his spot in the book, then settles down to read. You haven't been this close to a person in a while, a year in fact, and it was to kill them.

You decide to utilize this as an opportunity to study him further. You adjust your grip on the branch ever so slightly so you could move to get a better look, careful not to shake the tree limb.

He has freckles on the back of his neck that you see when he hunches slightly. He laughs quietly at something he read, more of a giggle really, and it strikes you how vulnerable he his right now, with the light in the sky starting to fade, and nobody else here but you. You could kill him right here, right now, and nobody would know. You don't. Obviously.

About about twenty minutes of no movement, the boy glances at his watch and stands up, about to leave, when he appears to notice something out of your view, freezing up. Perplexed, you inch just a tiny bit forward to try and see what was so alarming to him. Before you get a chance, the boy abandons the book on the bench and flat out  _runs_  from whatever he saw, and damn, he could move pretty quickly for such a short guy. You wonder what could possibly warrant him hightailing it outta there like that. You knew he hadn't caught sight of you; he hadn't so much as sneezed in your direction before running off. Not two seconds later, three other teenage boys pass into your line of sight as they chase after the him, jeering and yelling slurred insults. Drunk, ugh. You dislike inebriated people in your park; they're unpredictable and have a tendency to stir up trouble, something you definitely don't need more of.

You move to the tree adjacent to you so you could see better, balancing yourself between two tree limbs. The smaller boy had been shoved up against a water fountain and was currently having the tar beat out of him by the smallest of the trio, still bigger than the boy. After the poor kid collapses from a hit to the gut and they still don't back off, kicking him hard while he's down, you decide to step in. Can't have anybody get killed here; murder means investigation, and an investigation means police snooping around here, which is something you don't want for obvious reasons.

Subject DS12-395: Slaughter them all ==>

That's stupid and entirely defeats the point of stepping in in the first place. You're just going to scare them to the point of probably needing therapy. You drop unceremoniously from the tree and land on your feet behind them with your wings half out, almost perfectly silent. They don't notice you at first, too busy assaulting the boy, but you quickly remedy this by slashing at the tallest' s back, pulling the blow so you don't sever his spine the way you know you could, using just enough force to tear through his jacket and slice open his skin no deeper than a bad paper cut, still more than enough to get his attention. He whips around, hands curled into fists and ready to fight, but once he gets a good look at you he staggers backward a step, blinking furiously.

He turns to one of his comrades and asks,"Cronus, you seein' this?" He gestures to you with one hand. You don't move as the one that had first kicked the boy looks up at you. You must seem like a strange hallucination to them, a byproduct of their drunkness.

The teenager with slicked back hair, Cronus apparently, let his cigarette fall from his mouth in shock as he stares at you, the final boy finally having caught sight of you as well.

"Shit, man, I'm seein-" You don't give the brat the chance to respond. Flashing forward, you grab both his wrists and yank him away from the boy, throwing him to the ground. You miiiight have broken one of said wrists with the amount of force you used. Oh well, no big loss.

You spun back around to face the other two, wings stretched out to their full length behind you, a bit of posturing you indulged in. You nearly bust out laughing when one faints, because man this was almost too easy. That leaves the last one. He takes one look at his friends then turns tail and runs off. You consider chasing after him, but he's out of your territory now so you've got no beef with him.

The greaser tries to stand back up; you dispatch him with a swift kick to the head, not caring whether he was knocked out or dead at this point. You leave him where he lies, along with the fainter, closing the small distance between you and the quivering pile of a boy, kneeling down to his level. He isn't moving other than shivering, which you're pretty sure doesn't count. He's almost certainly out cold.

You gently prod at his shoulder with a finger, just to make sure. Yep, he's out. You don't want the kid to die out here or something (you did just go through all that shit for him) and he's in no state to care for himself. So you pick him up, bridal style, and lay his unconscious form down on the bench beneath your favorite tree where you'd be able to safely keep an eye on him, climb up and grab a faded blue blanket from within a little hollow you'd carved into the trunk with your nails to keep your few belongings, shaking it out and placing it over the boy.

He clings to it like it's the most important thing in the world, making this little murmuring sound in his sleep. You scamper back up into the tree, settling onto a tree limb right above the boy. You fall asleep listening to the rise and fall of his breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case the way Dave doesn't want anybody killed at first doesn't seem to apply later on to Cronus confuses anybody, it's mostly because his patience is wearing thin and he just doesn't like him.


	3. Subject DS12-395: Be the sleeping boy==>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter but I just moved and haven't been all that inspired.

Hm? Sleeping boy? You guess you are the sleeping boy, though you're waking up now.

You groan as you awake to the sound of something rustling, reaching up to rub your eyes with the back of one hand. Your blanket falls to the ground and you reflexively reach off the side of your bed to grab it. Your fingers brush against grass and dirt.

You yank your hand away and sit up with a gasp, the sudden memories of what happened last night flooding back to you and jolting you fully awake.

You weren't in bed. Hell, you weren't even in your house. No, you were sitting on a bench, in the middle of the night, in that park you'd always take Casey to when you babysat her, with a worn baby-blue blanket partially wrapped around you. You've been here so many times you recognize your surroundings instantly, even in the not-quite-darkness that comes from being near a large city.

You adjust your glasses on your face and check them for any new cracks or scratches from last night's encounter. Nothing on them that would require buying yet another pair, thank god. You let your fingers roam over the bruises on your shoulder as you try and organize your thoughts. Think John, _what happened?_   You try and think back to your most recent memory; that's what they did in movies right? Try and work their way back from there? It's worth a try at least. You drop your hand to your lap and close your eyes again, not like they were much use to you in the dark anyway

The last thing you remember is getting kicked in the side by one of Cronus's buddies. You were out like a light after that.

Wait, no, that wasn't quite true, you realize. You had a dream or something; can that even happen when you faint/get knocked out? It must be, because you swear you saw an angel. Your vision had been fuzzy, unlike most of your dreams, which were usually clear as day. Cronus and his friends had still been kicking you in it, strangely enough (normally your dreams are pleasant, like flying), until the angel appeared and fought them all off, little more than a hazy winged figure from your perspective, not helped by how quickly it moved, further blurring it's outline.

But that still doesn't answer the question of how you ended up here, or who was kind enough to give you the blanket. It certainly hadn't been Cronus or any of the others. It was more likely your imaginary angel gave it to you than Cronus had. You don't know what his problem is;  you aren't particularly remarkable to most people, but then again, you don't accidentally spill your nasty school-bought lunch on most people either. You said sorry, but the damage had been done and, unfortunately, he isn't the type to get over a grudge. Untangling yourself from the blanket, you stand hesitantly, wincing as you start to feel the rest of the bruises scattered all over your body. Fuck, you just know that you're going to be black and blue when you get the chance to look in a mirror, which will be soon since your apartment is within walking distance from here. It's best if you get to the safety of your home as fast as possible, for obvious reasons. You pick up the blanket, turning a full three-sixty in hopes of spotting it's owner. There's nobody in sight, but that's normal for...three o'clock in the morning. You check your watch again just to make sure. Yep, you slept a full eight hours here. Frankly, you're amazed that your things weren't all stolen off you, but you still had your wallet with all it's credit cards in place, and when you patted your jeans your apartment keys were still in your front pocket. This  _is_ the nicer part of town, but still, you consider yourself lucky.

There was no sign of Cronus or any of the other guys that follow him around. They probably just ran off when you blacked out, either losing interest or not wanting to take responsiblity for any serious injury they could have given you. Again, you got lucky.

"Hello?" You call out, just in case whoever moved you here was still hanging around and you just hadn't spotted them. No answer. It suddenly strikes you that whoever they were, they must have been pretty strong to have been able to carry you over to this bench by themselves. Unless they had help, but you think that's unlikely. It was probably some homeless person; anybody else would have called 911 if they found an unconcious teenage boy lying on the ground in a park, or so you hope. You guess you'll just leave the blanket here on the bench so they can find it later, assuming they visit often. You'd heard somewhere that homeless people like to hang around the same spots, which may or may not be true.

As you fold up the blanket, a large black feather slowly drifts down from above, twirling in the air before landing on the ground by your feet. You bend down to pick it up, shifting the blanket to one arm. Examining it closely between your fingers, you wonder what kind of bird it's from. A crow, or maybe a raven? You don't see them often but you know there's a few around here somewhere. There's one problem with that theory though; the feather is almost a foot long.

Another one, just a little smaller, falls from the tree. You look upwards hoping to catch a gimpse at the gigantic bird it must belong to. You see a monster instead.


	4. Subject DS12-395: Freak out and kill him ==>

Fuck, he saw you.


	5. John: Panic==>

Oh my god.

You can’t move. You are frozen in fear, staring up at the monstrosity clinging to the branches in the tree above you. It has an almost human figure, but its black feathered wings definitely _aren’t human._ It has a white and vaguely familiar bird mask of some sort stitched over its face, the stitches oozing blood so dark it’s almost black. Your heart nearly stops at the sight of it. Its hands are black and scaly, fingers tipped with literal razorblades, curving inward slightly to mimic the claws of a bird of prey, the dark metal glinting in what little light the streetlights provided as it flexed its fingers, probably thinking of slashing your throat or something equally unpleasant.

It’s clothing, a mishmash of patches and bits of other clothes sewn together to form a shirt and pants, are smeared with what appears to be dried blood, stained with a brownish maroon.  Your mental processing has grinded to a complete halt by now, the phrase _Oh my god_ stuck on repeat, occasionally replaced by _I’m going to die_. You stumble backwards as the creature drops to the ground in perfect silence, landing on its feet less than a foot in front of you.

Your own feet tangle together in the blanket you had dropped in shock. Falling flat onto your back, you yelp in pain when your hip connects with a rock. Your gaze never leaves the monster though, your mouth open in a silent scream of terror as it closed the small distance between the two of you.

Oh god, he's looming over you now, you can hear its raspy breathing, wet and diseased sounding. Somewhere in the back of your mind you realize where you've seen the mask. It's the trademark of the plague doctor, worn by those dealing with death. The monster is the living (or maybe not so living) embodiment of sickness and death. You are struck by another sobering thought. Its wings were that of what you had seen in your dream.

If it was the "angel" you thought you saw, then that wasn't a dream at all, but a memory. He (you can't really tell the creature's actual gender, if they had one at all, but you decide on male for simplicities sake) saved you from Cronus and the others.

That doesn't make you any less terrified when he lunges forward and hauls you to your feet by your shirt front, ripping it a little as he went. He shoves you hard against the tree trunk beside the bench, knocking the breath out of you, not that you had much to begin with. Pinning you against the bark, he digs his nails into your shoulders as he holds you in place, drawing blood. You attempt to scream, but it doesn't do any good since the moment you let out little more than a gasp, he slaps a hand over your mouth, effectively silencing you. You stop squirming as he leans closer, eyes wide, not wanting to anger him any further. He seems to inspect you for a few moments before loosening his grip on you and standing back slightly, apparently satisfied with what he saw.

You of course immediately wrench yourself out of his arms to try and run away as fast as you possibly can. _Try_ being the operative word here. He darts forward and grabs you by the neck before you get the chance to really run far. You clutch at his arm, trying to loosen his grip when he lifts you off the ground by your neck with ease. You can't imagine how strong he must be: he's holding you aloft with only one hand and he's not that much taller than you. But these thoughts slip away as he squeezes on your neck, cutting off your source of air, and hysteria sets in when he squeezes harder. You stare into the dark glasses that covered the eyeholes of the mask. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes as you choke out a strangled plea for mercy.

"P-please sto-" Your wheezy begging is cut short by the hand constricting your breathing slowly tightening its grip. You kick out at him but it's no use. Your struggling slows and loses force behind it as shadows dance around the edges of your vision, blood rushing to your head as everything starts to fade and blur together. Right before you lose consciousness, he relinquishes his hold on you, letting you fall to the ground. You're far too busy sucking in as much air as you can to stop and wonder why he let you go, and lay in a coughing heap on the grass with your sight swimming.

You jump when you feel a gentle hand on our shoulder. Your head jerks up to look at him, but it's not him. You mean, it is _a_ him, but it's not _him._ It's a boy of around seventeen years old with Indian features and what looked like natural red hair, contrasting from the rest of his appearance. He’s dressed modestly in his oversized clothing, simple jeans, a turtle-necked shirt (not that you can blame him with the how chilly it's been lately), and an open jacket, the only relatively remarkable thing about how he was dressed was a small golden hoop in one ear. You look around hurriedly, not seeing the bird-boy, about to warn red-head of the monster, when he interrupts you, looking a bit peeved.

"Oi, didn't you hear me? Are you alright?!" He speaks with an unplaceable accent, like a little of everything, though something like a mix of Australian and English shines through the most prominently. You blink at him dumbly. "Fucking hell I hope you aren’t totally braindead in there," he sighs and helps you to your feet.

"Not really...About being okay, I mean, my brain is fine,” you say quietly, numbly letting him get you up. He probably won't believe you if you tell him what just happened. A fucking murderous bird-man from out of nowhere is what happened, and you have a feeling that that story wouldn't go over too well. He'd just call the hospital about how there's some looney walking around talking about bird people and just collapsed. Yeah, not so good of an idea. You snap back to reality when the guy waves his hand in front of your face, looking concerned. You decide it'd be best if you just lied about being okay so you could get home quicker. "Huh? Sorry, what'd you say?"

He just shakes his head, "Christ on a cracker, were you even listening? I _said_ , _Are you sure?_ But you were zoned the fuck out to Mars.”

“Sorry, I’m fine thanks,” you say with a forced smile that isn’t convincing anyone. “I, uh, didn’t catch your name there.”

“I didn’t give it,” he says pointedly, “but if you had been actually listening you would have already known that, dumbass.”

Normally you’d be taken aback by his rudeness, but you were past the point of really caring, just wanting to get as far away from here as possible. Your heart is still racing as you respond with a simple, “Sorry,” and then walk past him.

He blocks you with a hand to your chest. “Woah there, where the flying fuck do you think you’re going?” You try and brush him off and mutter something about having to be somewhere.

“Haha, no. The only place you have to be is the hospital, because unless you have some fetish for sleeping  face down in the dirt of public places, I’d say your sorry ass just collapsed on the goddamned ground, which as far as I know, isn’t a healthy thing, but hey, I’m no doctor, just some dickhead that decided to stop and see if the kid sprawled ass up on the grass is okay,” he says as he steps in front of you and crosses his arms, blocking your path again. He glares up at you, daring you to challenge him. He even manages to look a little menacing despite the fact that someone of his stature must have a hard time being viewed as anything but kinda adorable. Not that anything seems even remotely menacing to you now compared to that… thing. As much as he’s swearing, you can tell he means well, but you just don’t have time for this.

“I’m not a kid,” you start, earning an eyeroll from the shorter boy, “And I’m _fine_ , really, I appreciate your concern, but I need to get home, it’s really late; why are you even out at three in the morning?” You manage to turn the conversation away from yourself and begin to edge around him. You actually should get home now, regardless of what happened a minute ago.

He adjusts his stance again and doesn’t take the bait, “Just making sure shitheads like you aren’t ending up dead in an alleyway. Look, I get it, you don’t know who the hell I am and to you I’m just some freaky ass angry guy, but you seriously should get that looked at.” He gestures at the darkening bruises on your face, evidence of your earlier run in with Cronus. “At least let me walk you home or something, maybe pay for your bus fare if it’s out of walking distance. The name’s Karkat Vantas by the way,” he holds out his hand, clearly wanting you to shake it.

You hesitate to take him up on his offer, but it’s better that you don’t walk home alone. You’d normally never be out this late, or early rather, and would be a little nervous, even without that _thing_ lurking around here somewhere. “Nice to meet you Karkat,” you don’t comment on his funny name, taking his hand and shaking it once before dropping it, “I’m John.” You almost don’t give him your last name, but he told you his, so it’d be rude not to. You tack on, “John Egbert,” as an afterthought.

He just nods, “So care to tell me where on earth you live? Not an address or anything, you’d have to be the stupidest piece of shit alive to tell me that, just the general area.”

You look a bit sheepish, as you had in fact been about to tell him your address. “Uh, I live in an apartment just a few blocks away.” You realize that that probably wasn’t very smart of you to say with the bird-thing possibly still hanging around. Possibly literally. Just because you didn’t see him didn’t mean he wasn’t there.

“Lead the way, oh stupidest piece of shit alive,” he mock bows with a flourish.

“Hey!” you squawk indignantly, “I didn’t tell you my address; what was that for?”

He scoffs, “You didn’t, but you might as well have. There’s only three decent apartment buildings around here, and they’re pretty well spaced out, so it’d be pretty damn easy to figure out which one you infest.”

“Oh.” You hadn’t thought about that and you suppose even if you went home by yourself now, Karkat could still easily follow you if he wanted to. Fuck it, you decide, he can already figure out where you live, might as well let him escort you home; safety in numbers right? “It’s this way,” you start to turn in the direction of the way home, but it feels like the ground lurches violently beneath you.

Karkat catches you before you do any more than sway, dangerously close to falling over. He wraps an arm around your waist to steady you, an expression of concern on his face once again.

“John! Jesus, don’t faint on me you idiot!” You mumble an apology and lean against him. Though you don’t want to topple you both over, you really do need the support. You feel light-headed. Not surprising considering you had been nearly strangled less than ten minutes ago.

He adjusts his grip on you so that your head can rest on his shoulder, muttering unintelligible obscenities under his breath, no doubt calling you every name under the sun. “Now where do you live again? Damn, and you didn’t seem in too bad of shape before, minus being passed out,” he says the last part quieter, more to himself than you. You just tell him your address, not like it mattered much now.

The ginger nods then starts gently steering you in the right direction, already well acquainted with the area. You try hard not to trip yourself, but you still stumble most of the way, splashing through the puddles left from yesterday’s rain. You and Karkat get a funny look from the woman in the lobby, but Karkat comments about how you should lay off the booze, which seems to put the woman at ease, assuming you are merely drunk. He manages to get you onto the elevator with no major issues, glad that your apartment is only on the second floor. By the time the elevator dings to signal your arrival, you’re finally more or less steady on your feet, but your hands are still so shaky that you hand Karkat your keys and ask him to open the door for you.

He even helps you inside, laying you down on the couch and tossing you a pillow. He jumps when your pet parrot, Zillyhoo, does its signature horror movie scream. You just groan and tell Karkat to throw a blanket over the birds’ cage, covering your ears with the pillow.

You must have fallen sleep because you dream of the monster in the park, drifting in and out of consciousness.

John: Wake Up ==>

You wake up to the sound of Zillyhoo imitating an alarm clock in your ear. You glare at the bird, now toggling between her horror movie scream and various swear words. You regret teaching her those now; when you had gotten her for your fourteenth birthday it had sounded like an absolutely hilarious idea and your twin sister, Jade, agreed to help teach the bird as many dirty phrases and curses as possible. Now it was just annoying and bothersome that you could never have the children you babysit anywhere near your apartment or else you’d hear complaints from their parents when they repeated what they’d heard.

You sit up and rub your pounding temple, shooing Zillyhoo off the sofa with one hand. She makes a happy trilling sound then flies off to go perch on top of the coatrack. You squint at her, then it dawns on you why everything is so blurry. Picking up your glasses from the coffee table, you feel paper crinkle beneath your fingers. You put your glasses on and pick up the piece of paper to read the note scrawled across it in red pen.

_You fell asleep on the couch you gigantic fucking idiot. I could have been a goddamn serial killer and you wouldn’t have known, mostly because your throat would have been slit by now due to your incessant stupidity. I left your keys on the table. Hopefully your demon bird hasn’t escaped again. It got out of its cage twice since I got here and is personally going for the ‘How Quickly Can We Make Karkat Permanently Fucking Deaf’ world record. I didn’t want to wake you up so I just turned on the heating for you and hung around for about a half-hour to make sure you didn’t die in your sleep. Good luck with the hangover, it’s going to be a bitch. In case you’re wondering, I didn’t steal anything, though I should have since the screaming parrot shit all over my favorite coat. Here’s my chumhandle, pester me when you get the chance, assuming you didn’t choke on your own spit:_

__  
carcinoGeneticist   


~Karkat Vantas

You put the paper back down on the table, running your hand through your tangled curly hair. So he really did think you were drunk. You suppose that made sense, given that he had found you almost passed out in a park and he’d had to practically carry you home. Karkat, like he said, could have been a serial killer, or at least a thief, and could have easily robbed you blind.  But he didn’t, and you mentally upgrade his trustworthiness level. You make a mental note to pester him later on and thank him.

You had no idea what had happened to make you so sick. Maybe it was the shock of nearly getting brutally murdered at the hands of something that really had no right to even exist. Your stomach drops as you remember you were scheduled to take care of Casey at the park again. Yep, it was definitely shock, and more than a healthy dose of fear. Just the thought of even walking by the park made you want to puke. There was no way in hell you would ever even chance exposing Casey or any other child to whatever the fuck lived in that park. You won’t be going back there.

Standing up, you take a few deep breaths before taking your phone out of your back pocket, dialing the number for Casey’s mother, Mrs. Trosnoc, and pacing back and forth while you wait for her to pick up.

_You’ve reached the Trosnoc residence,_ the prerecorded voice chimes cheerfully, _we’re not here right now, so please leave a message after the tone!_ You know that isn’t Mrs. Trosnoc’s voice, but that of her cheerful personal assistant, Aradia. She was the one who picked you as the babysitter and was very sympathetic to you about having to deal with the rest of the Trosnoc family, as she delt with them even more than you did. The two of you were actually friends and chatted whenever both of you had the time, which was rare due to your full and conflicting schedules.

You quickly make up a story of how you are violently sick today, saying that you’ll gladly take Casey on the weekend to make it up to them and you are very sorry for the inconvenience, blah, blah, blah, then hang up, setting the phone down atop the note from Karkat. You dislike Mr. and Mrs. Trosnoc, not because of their sour disposition (which isn’t exactly a plus), but because of how much they neglect poor Casey. It’s not that they forgot to feed her or anything, no, she was fine there, they just never spend any time with her. You could excuse their behavior if the reason for their near permanent absence from her life if it was solely business related, but it’s not. You aren’t the type to judge but the Trosnocs simply don’t want her around and request that you babysit her with almost no notice beforehand, calling and saying they’d like you to take her for the day because she was “being a handful right now”, which was ridiculous; of course a six year old girl with nothing to entertain her is going to become a little hyper and get into things she shouldn’t. What did they expect, a perfect little angel? Not likely, especially what with Casey’s inquisitive nature. You aren’t exaggerating when you say you have her at least four days a week, from ten o’ clock in the morning to around four in the afternoon. She’s practically your little sister at this point. You’d never have thought that babysitting could be considered as a job you could live off of exclusively, but the Trosnoc family is a large and wealthy one, and pay you well. You’d still have quit despite the money, but you’d miss Casey far too much to do that. You sometimes wish that you could adopt her, but you’re far too young for a child even though you already take care of her so much. Plus you can’t afford it. Children are expensive after all. 

You leave behind that train of thought in favor of going into the bathroom to treat your injuries. You strip down to just your boxers, leaving the rest of your muddied clothes in a heap by the bathroom door. You’ll pick them up later.

Grabbing the first aid kit you keep beneath the sink, you set it on the counter and lean forward to examine your reflection in the mirror. You take in the sight of a splotchy bruise on your left cheek, and even bigger ones scattered over your entire body. Your everywhere aches and you spot a scrape on your neck from being shoved up against sharp bark. From the stinging on various points on your body, you were more than a tiny bit scratched up, especially your shoulders, which were scabby and itched where the monster had clawed you. You don’t want an infection so you turn away from the mirror and turn on the shower, yanking off your underwear and stepping in as soon as the water was hot enough. You sigh as the water soothes your sore muscles and you get to work scrubbing away all the dirt and mud from your skin.

You indulge in an unusually long shower, almost forty minutes long, because you more than deserved it. Not every day you have a near death experience after all.


	6. Subject DS12-395: Make John panic ==>

Who? You disregard that that thought, you have more important things to deal with at the moment, like the boy sleeping on the wooden park bench that sits right up against the trunk of your favorite tree to sit in. Mostly because he’s not sleeping anymore and he’s looking around, clutching a blanket. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best idea to give him your best (a.k.a. only) blanket, not just because you want it back now, but also because now he’s probably wondering who it’s owner is. Yeah, it was kinda stupid of you to leave evidence of your presence with him. Hopefully he’ll just go with it and go home like any sane person would at this time of night. It’s around three a.m. right now. You’ve thankfully always had a good internal clock and can usually guess the time with decent accuracy.

You stretch out on the thick tree limb as you watch him in his apparent confusion. You were used to sleeping in uncomfortable positions in weird places like trees by now and the wet ground wasn’t exactly an improvement so you couldn’t complain, but it still left you a little sore. A breeze blows through the park, whispering through the trees and rustling the leaves of your tree. One of your smaller feathers comes loose and falls to the ground by the boy’s feet, and he bends down to pick it up. _Shit._ You hold your breath as he inspects it, chewing his lip as he did so. Then yet another feather drifts down to him and he glances upward in your direction curiously.

He goes stock still in shock when he sees you above him and the blanket and feather fall from his hands.

Fuck, he saw you.

You have no choice but to end his life now; you can’t risk him telling somebody, _anybody_ , about you even existing. You won’t enjoy it like you would with most anyone else, but you still have to go through with it. You’ll miss him and that girl brightening your day a little. Oh well, you’ll get over it eventually.

Dropping to the ground, more of a calculated fall really, you land no more than a foot away from him, landing on your feet, as per usual. He reels backward, flailing as he manages to trip himself over the blanket. It’d comical if it wasn’t so damn pathetic. He never breaks eye contact with you despite, or more likely because of, his painfully obvious terror. You take a single step forward and lean over him, almost considering sparing him, but then you see a spark of recognition in his eyes and you know that he wasn’t totally unconscious when you scared off the other three. You seize his shirt front and yank him to his feet, only tearing a little of the fabric as you push him hard against the tree, narrowly missing the bench itself.  He tries to squirm out of your grasp but merely succeeds in scratching himself on your claws. You hear the sharp intake of breathe that typically preludes a scream, and you hastily cover his mouth with one hand, pinning him in place with your forearm. You can feel the way he’s trembling in fear and you get a little closer, wondering what it must feel like to be in his place, with no power of any kind, simply waiting for death. You remember your old life in Scratch Institute and that’s probably about the same as what he’s feeling now. You take pity on him and decide you’ll kill him quick, and as painlessly as possible. He’s stopped squirming now, and you make the mistake of letting up on your iron grip on him, stepping away as you prepare to flashstep behind him so you can safely sever his spine with a slash to the back of his neck. You’d normally just snap his neck, but you would also prefer it if he didn’t see the blow coming, nicer that way and shit. Naturally, things don’t go as planned and he somehow manages to get away for a second, actually getting about three steps in before you grab him by the neck and lift him off the ground a couple inches so he can’t pull away this time. You squeeze on his throat, making sure to cut off his air so he couldn’t scream. He does manage a teary plea for his life though, using up the last of the air in his lungs to do so.

Once again, you find yourself feeling pity for him, and decide that you’ll just strangle the poor guy instead of taking the quick way out. Can’t let yourself get soft after all. The boy’s badly aimed kicks at you start to weaken as his strength fades due to lack of oxygen. You can tell he’s about to lose consciousness now, but soon you hear footsteps coming closer and you don’t have time to finish to job, dropping the boy. It would have been too suspicious for two murders to occur so close to each other, so the option of just slaughtering whoever was coming is out.

You dart over to another tree, still fairly close to the one you had previously been seated in, and climb as far up as you can go without fear of any of the thinner branches breaking under your weight. You watch as another boy, even shorter than the first (who is already on the short side as it is), helps him to his feet and repeatedly insults him while simultaneously offering his assistance. Now that’s a skill you can appreciate.

For the first time, you hear the first boy’s name, John Egbert. It fits him somehow.

Understandably, John’s more than a little winded from his encounter with you, nearly collapsing again. You’re a little annoyed that _Karkat_ (pff, no way that’s his real name) practically carries the guy home and you’re forced to follow them, ninja style jumping from building to building like the fucking badass you are. When he proceeds to watch over Egbert for an hour and a half, you definitely start to dislike him because you really just wanted John dead already and you can’t get at him with Karkat around, especially since a double homicide would attract double the attention. By the time he finally leaves it’s started to rain again and you’re sopping wet in no time.

On the bright side, you’re getting cleaner than you’ve been in months. You’re still freezing your ass off though and you blame Karkat for interrupting you in the first place. This whole debacle would be over by now if not for him.

After waiting another hour to make sure the bastard is really gone, you take a flying leap off the roof of the building you were standing on and barely land on the ledge beneath John’s window, teetering dangerously close to falling off the wet brick before balancing out and peering in through the glass. Your mask bumps into the glass with a _thunk_ , and goddammit, how the hell do you keep forgetting that you wear it? It’s not like you’ve ever _not_ worn it; it’s stitched to your face for fuck’s sake.

You don’t see John anywhere in the apartment. It’s on the small side with only two rooms, excluding the bathroom. Just the main area which functions as a kitchen/living room, and a bedroom with the door wide open.  The bathroom also has its door open and you see a jumble of clothes on the floor and—is he seriously showering with the door open? He is, the idiot.

Oh look, now he just got out and isn’t even bothering to wrap a towel around his waist. Jesus Christ.

You don’t feel comfortable killing a guy while he’s in the nude, it’s just common decency. He must have heard you bump into the glass earlier because the first thing he does upon exiting the bathroom is turn in your direction. You duck down and hurriedly dig your nails into the brick wall so you can scurry up the side of the building and position yourself above the window, hanging upside-down with your wings stretched halfway out, ready to abscond at a moments notice. You leave some pretty deep scratches in the brick around John’s window, but you can’t find it in you to care about that in the least.

You’re perfectly silent as you hear some shuffling around from inside the apartment, then the window is slid open and John leans out, looking down at the dead end ally between this building and the next. He leans a little further out and you suddenly get the idea to simply shove him, maybe make it look like he jumped. Nah, that’s too nice. You like the guy, but he’s put you through so much trouble already so you might as well return the favor.

John takes a step back and shuts the window, making a small _click_ when he locks it. You’re not going to kill him just yet, but you are going to make his life a living hell. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice whispers that you’re just taking everything out on him, and that he really doesn’t deserve what you’ll do to him. You smile.  


	7. John: Check out that noise you heard ==>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so John's gonna get super panicky in this chapter near the end, like not-quite-sure-if-it-qualifies-as-a-panic-attack sort of panic. Just warning y'all.

Noise? You don’t hear anything other than the sound of water hitting tile— _thunk._ You drop your shampoo bottle in surprise and it lands right on your toes. Resisting the urge to swear loudly and possibly wake the old couple living in the apartment right next to yours, you instead bite down on one of your knuckles and hop on one foot. You quickly realize how silly you must look and cease your actions; it’ll take more than a plastic bottle of strawberry scented soap to get the best of you.

You slide back the glass door and step out of the shower after turning off the water, not bothering to grab a towel (mostly since you don’t actually have any on hand right now because you keep forgetting to do the laundry). It’s pretty toasty in here anyway thanks to Karkat, and the ability to lounge about entirely naked is one of the best things that come with living on your own. You wipe water from your eyes, snatching your glasses from the bathroom counter and turning when you see a blur of black and white in your peripherals. Leaving the light in the bathroom on, you step out into the main room of your living space which serves as everything but a bedroom and bathroom. There’s nothing out of the usual when you look around. Nothing has fallen and Zillyhoo is finally asleep with her head under her wing, sitting atop her cage. Maybe you just imagined it?

Maybe you had imagined the bird-thing too, you think hopefully, nothing more than a particularly bad dream.

No, unfortunately, that had been real enough alright, the painful bruises around your neck could attest to that. You shiver despite the warmth of the apartment.

Walking over to the window, you idly wonder why you aren’t feeling as panicked as before. You open the window and lean out; you could have just heard a bird flying into the window. That’s happened a few times unfortunately and you are embarrassed to say you cried the first time a bird died that way. You only cried a little though, and it was heartbreaking to hear the poor things weak chirps as you held it dying in your hands. It had flown into the glass and fallen down onto your windowsill with its wing broken, so you had to at least try and comfort it in its final moment. Even though you knew you could catch a disease or something from touching it, you couldn’t just leave it alone.

You peer downward towards the alleyway directly below your window, but again, you don’t see anything more than a few large puddles on the uneven ground, reflecting the light from inside your open window. Hey, that one was practically a mirror; you could even make out your somewhat distorted reflection peering back at you. And just past it was-

You step back from the window and close it, slowly backing away. You force yourself to move at a leisurely pace as you draw the curtains shut. Your hands shake while you turn on every light in your home and close all the curtains after grabbing a clean pair of underwear. You turn back to the window, waiting for the thing outside to burst in at any moment and finish what it had started. Your heart pounds and your palms grow a little sweaty as the minutes drag on. Nothing happens. You don’t feel any better, because, honestly, you were scared to death.  _He_ had followed you home and knew where you lived now and it was more likely than not that you’d be dead soon.

You’re trembling as you sit down on the couch, contemplating running out of your apartment and down the hall, screaming about the monster that wants to kill you. But you aren’t stupid; who in their right mind would believe you? And since it didn’t seem to show interest in murdering anybody else, you weren’t going to put innocent people in danger no matter how much you wanted to call for help. But then again it had attacked Cronus and his two friends, so you weren’t quite sure what to think.

You feel sick. Your breath is just as shaky as your hands, you feel a little dizzy, and you are so terrified that the knot of fear in your stomach physically _hurts_. You pull your knees up to your chest and wrap your arms around them, fighting to breathe normally. Hyperventilating will not make anything better, but _ohmygodamonster, thisisitimdead._ Both of which are fantastic reasons to hyperventilate.

After not moving an inch for at least half an hour and the thing still hasn’t come in, you’re a bit calmer and pick your phone up off Karkat’s note on the table before grabbing it as well, studying the chumhandle for a second then entering it into your phone.

 

ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CB]  
EB: hello?  
EB: this is karkat right?

 

You wait for a response, anxiously glancing up at the window. Still no sign of the monster. You turn your attention back to the screen of your phone.

 

CG: FIRST OFF, WHO THE HELL IS THIS. SECONDLY, WHY IN GODS NAME DID YOU FEEL THAT OF ALL THE INFERNAL TIMES TO POSSIBLY HARASS ME, THE ABSOLUTE BEST MOMENT WOULD BE AT THE ASSCRACK OF DAWN?! I COULD HAVE BEEN TRYING TO SLEEP, YOU IGNORAMOUS. A FUCK YOU TO YOU TOO, ‘ECTOBIOLOGIST’. THE FUCK KIND OF SHITTY HANDLE EVEN IS THAT.  


 

You were a little thrown off by the answering message and rechecked that you typed Karkat’s chumhandle correctly. You are fairly sure you have the right one.

 

EB: uh this is john.  
EB: you know, from the park?  
EB: sorry if ive got the wrong handle.  
CG: I GUESS I CAN FORGIVE YOU FOR PESTERING ME SO EARLY THEN, THOUGH WHEN I SAID TO DO IT AS SOON AS POSSIBLE, I DIDN’T FUCKING MEAN FOR YOU TO LITERALLY CONTACT ME AS SOON AS YOU FOUND THE NOTE.  


 

At least now you know it’s actually Karkat you’re messaging, not just some random person with a similar chumhandle.

 

EB: yeah, i guess i just wasn’t really thinking about the time.  
CG: CLEARLY. FROM YOUR HORRIBLY TIMED MESSAGES I TAKE IT YOU MANAGED NOT TO DIE OF DRUNKEN STUPIDITY.  
EB: yeah im fine.  


 

A lie. You feel like puking. You try to appear calm online anyway.

 

EB: ive just got a killer headache is all, but it’ll go away.  
CG: NO FUCKING SHIT YOU HAVE A HEADACHE. WITH HOW MUCH YOU MUST HAVE DRANK, IM SURPRISED YOU CAN EVEN STAND TO LOOK AT A COMPUTER OR WHATEVER YOU’RE USING.  
EB: er, i wasn’t drunk. you just caught me at kind of a bad time.  
CG: SURE, AND I’M MISS AMERICA. WATCH AS I WAVE TO MY CROWD OF ADORING FANS, HOLDING A BOUQUET WHILE I CALL BULLSHIT. THE ENTIRE COUNTRY IS IN AWE OF MY STUNNING DEDUCTION AND KEEN SKILLS OF OBSERVATION, CHEERING AND THROWING FLOWERS AS I PASS BY.  
CG: IF YOU ARE PASSED OUT IN A PUBLIC PARK AT THREE IN THE MORNING YOU ARE EITHER INTOXICATED, HOMELESS, OR JUST PLAIN STUPID.  
EB: either way, thanks for getting me home safely.  
EB: gotta go.  
EB: sorry.  
ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG]

 

You figure it’s probably for the best if he thinks you were drunk anyway.  You really are grateful that Karkat helped you the way he did; upon reflection, you now realize that he was probably the only reason the bird-thing had let you go, albeit temporarily. You really want to check whether or not it’s still out there so you can stop glancing at the window every few seconds to assure yourself that the monster isn’t coming in, but there is no way you’re risking it knowing you saw it.  You don’t really even want to go outside.

You think you’ll just stay in today and watch movies or something, maybe order pizza; you haven’t done that in a while. You hear quiet tapping start on your window, just a branch, you tell yourself, despite the fact that there aren’t any trees by your window. And that branches don’t sound like that. Yep, today you’ll just relax (read: avoid having a breakdown in public).

You turn off your phone and toss it onto the cushions to your right. Resting your elbows on your knees, you lean forward and put your head in your hands, eyes squeezed shut as the tapping gets louder. You’ll be fine, it’s nothing. You grind the palms of your hands into your eyes until you see sparks. The sharp _clink, clink, clink_ of metal against glass finally stops and you let out a small sigh of relief. You look up, uncovering your eyes.

The heating in your apartment kicks back on and warm air whooshes out from the vent below the window, blowing the curtains to the side just in time for you to see a black hand slam loudly into the rain-spattered glass then lazily draw itself upward and out of view, talons screeching across the glass and completely shattering your nerves.

You are fine, you tell yourself over and over as the curtain falls back into place. It’s nothing, you are fine.

Oh god, you aren’t fine; this is like Texas all over again. The two monsters even looked similar, though the old one was so much worse, trapping you and whispering horrible things into your ear then laughing when you tried to flee.  You shove the memories away, locking them tight in a compartment in the back of your mind.

“I’m fine,” you whisper to yourself as the tapping starts back up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, but I won't be able to update very often as of now, probably once a week, but maybe more. Definitely not abandoning this fic, so don't worry if there's a long pause in updates.


	8. DS12-395: Slowly drive John completely mad ==>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now edited for mistakes and a few sentences added in for clarity's sake.

You’re already doing that and you feel guilty as fuck, you hate it in fact, which is exactly why stopping isn’t an option. You hate yourself for hating it. Your bro always taught you that if something makes you weaker, destroy it. Whether it be an enemy, a part of yourself, or simply the weakest link, if it’s holding you back, it needs to go. And John is making you weak. He is making you weak by making you care about him. Your oldest brother, and the leader, BRO12-395, taught this lesson to all your brothers, DIS12-395, HAL12-395, and DSP4-310. (The whole 12-395 part of your names was something like a last name you guess; you weren’t sure why DSP4-310 was different. BRO12-395 never let any of you treat him like anything less than family though, despite his appearance contrasting so much from the looks of the rest of you in the group.)

Your mind is wandering again and you have to stop yourself from going on a mental tangent of ‘why’s and ‘how’s in your life. Man you miss your family. It’s been almost five years since you’ve seen any of them. You really hope that DIS12-395 and BRO12-395 haven’t killed each other by now; you had been the main mediator between the two of them, though DSP4-310 could rein them in on occasion. A year before you alone had been transferred from the Houston branch of Scratch Laboratories in Texas to the Seattle branch in Washington, they had started to really go at it during strifes in the enclosure, even more so than usual. Then they started to disagree on nearly every subject or issue and tried to outperform the other whenever possible, to the point where you had to help tend to BRO12-395’s wounds on a daily basis, and HAL12-395 to DIS12-395’s. DSP4-310 preferred to aid either both or neither, not wanting to pick a side. Whenever someone would try and convince him to stick to one or another, just for the time being, he'd just tilt his head and not say a word, with his bird-skull mask sliding a little down his face. (You made him it from when some sort of big ass bird carcass had been brought in, and spent a month or two to make it into an actual usuable mask he could strap on. He'd been the only one without a mask up until then, and had looked ready to kiss you when you showed him your gift.)You told him you and HAL12-395 weren’t picking sides, but he simply crossed his arms and slithered off, the long orange snake tail that started at his hips trailing behind him and underdeveloped wings of the same color fluttering irritably as he went to do who knows what in the small faux foresty area in the middle of the huge room you all lived in, not as big as say a baseball stadium, but big enough for each of you to comfortably exist without having to interact much with the others. Not that any of you would ever want to cut yourselves off from the others.

 When you’d asked BRO12-395 and DIS12-395 what the fuck was up with them, they both just flicked the tip your mask and said it was none of your damn business. When you had told HAL12-395 about the exchange, he’d explained that it was just their nature, something about DIS12-395 threatening BRO12-395’s position as leader of your merry band, and the only way the conflict will end is for one of them to back down or else die. You really did not want any of your elder brothers to die, or even get beaten into submission, so you decided to simply stick yourself between them at all times. It had mixed results.

 

 

 BRO12-395 jerked to a halt, mid-stride with his back to you and DIS12-395. DIS12-395 jeered at him, “Oh what, too chicken too fight back old man?” in perfect English, despite BRO12-395 having forbidden all of you to speak in anything but the complicated series of caws, clicks, and screeches that comprised the language you all knew since the very moment each of you first found yourselves in this place. You couldn’t talk very well in that way (and not at all in any human way) as your mask extended down past your mouth, making moving your jaw exceptionally painful; it was fortunate you didn’t have to eat or else you’d have died long ago.

 DIS12-395 didn’t stop there. “If you can’t even face me while I insult you, I don’t think you’re strong enough to lead anymore. Maybe a couple decades ago, sure. But you’ve gone _soft_ ,” he says, practically spitting the word at him.

 You hear a low growl from BRO12-395 and he spins around with his wings flared and pointed teeth bared. Even through the tinted glass embedded in his mask, covering his eyes, you can see BRO12-395’s dark orange eyes narrow at DIS12-395. He doesn’t stoop to speaking in in English, though his fury is evident in his posture.  “The _fuck_ did you just say to me, you little bitch?” he asks in a low voice. Shit.  He’s almost never quiet, times like this being the only exception.

 DIS12-395 doesn’t seem to get the hint, ignoring the small window of opportunity he had to apologize and take a smaller punishment, like getting pinned down and having a couple handfuls of large feathers ripped out one by one. “Going deaf too? I _said_. You’ve. Gone. Soft.” DIS12-395 just smirks as he says this, crouching slightly, ready for a strife. “I’d be a much better leader now don’t you think? Why don’t you just.. step down for a bit,” he purrs. You can’t believe he seriously just challenged BRO12-395 to an actual fight, not a strife, and especially not while BRO12-395’s in this sort of mood; he might actually kill DIS12-395. He hadn’t hesitated finish off ADS12-395, previously the oldest, when he rebelled against him much in the same way DIS12-395 was doing now; that was just before you had been put in here. Or at least that’s what HAL12-395 told you. Most of the time, the others wouldn’t tell you jack-shit because you were the youngest or something. HAL12-395 knew what being kept out of the loop was like since up until you and DSP4-310 came along, he had been the youngest, even if he was only a couple months younger than DIS12-395. So you and him just sort of talk sometimes and get a chance to relax for once because you both trust each other with your lives (you know it’s cheesy as cheap ballpark nachos but it’s true), more out of necessity than anything else at first; you’d both go crazy if you couldn’t open up to _somebody_ without fear of being disciplined for weakness. Plus you both could bitch about the rest of the family without some sort of retribution, which was a definite plus.

 BRO12-395 doesn’t move for a second, staring at him, then suddenly he’s lunging for DIS12-395’s throat, and like hell you’re letting them murder each other. You want to separate them somehow, but they’re both blurs at this point, leaving the occasional after-image in the air if they stop moving for more than a goddamn millisecond. You may not be able to track their movement but you sure can hear them. They’re screeching, hissing, and yowling, and you’ve got no idea what the fuck to do. Frankly they sound kinda like when a few mangy feral cats had been tossed into the enclosure to see what the fuck you’d all do, and the cats had started fighting so HAL12-395 and DIS12-395 had made bets on which one would win. “Psh, no way that one’s winning,” HAL12-395 had said, gesturing with one hand towards the orange-ish colored cat DIS12-395 had bet on, “I mean just look at it.” BRO12-395 joined in on the fun and said that he’ll bet a backrub that neither cat will win (wings fucking hurt like eighty percent of time, so backrubs are always awesome). They both took the bet, and not two minutes later BRO12-395 had chowed down on the felines, making sure to give the cameras in the ceiling an extra good view of it all once he pounced on the small animals. DIS12-395 and HAL12-395 both griped that that was cheating and he could have at least shared. He just laughed well naturedly and said that they hadn’t laid out any rules, so what else did they expect? You miss times like that, when the worst that really happened between any of you were just minor squabbles that ended in a quick strife or two.

 You yell for HAL (your full names were such a mouthful) and before you think about what you are doing, you’re jumping into the fray, trying to get between them. That was insanely stupid of you. Both can flashstep ten times faster than you and just move around you, ignoring you completely. They slash at each other with their dagger-like claws and more or less evenly matched, dodging and moving with incredible speed and precision, practically dancing around you. You’d be watching them in awe right now if you weren’t otherwise preoccupied. Suddenly HAL’s there and he rushes over to you and grabs you by the shoulder and tries to pull you away from them, away from the danger, but it backfires. Neither BRO nor DIS had factored your sudden movement into their calculations and BRO’s claws cut into your arm, leaving three long slashes across your bicep. You cry out in pain and shock; you didn’t think he’d actually _hurt_ you.

 DIS and BRO have both frozen in place, fight forgotten as HAL swears under his breath and takes off his (only) shirt to rip it into strips, which he quickly wraps around your wound, trying to stop the bleeding. As he nudges you in the direction of the den-like cave thing you sleep in, BRO and DIS seem to snap out of their trance and rush forward to help you. You hadn’t seen DSP, but now he’s standing (or whatever it’s called when snakes have their heads all raised up and stuff before they strike), hissing and cawing that neither one them gets to go with you and cause more trouble or else _he will personally tear off their fucking wings._

 

 

 HAL had patched you up and you two basically had a cuddly feelings-jam afterward, curled up together in the few blankets you possessed. You both came to the conclusion that if you kept yourself in the same area as one of them as much as possible, BRO and DIS wouldn’t do anything around you for fear of injuring you again. You’ll make sure to play it up for extra pity points, increasing the effectiveness of your strategy. You’ll stick by BRO and HAL will hang around DIS when you don’t feel like hovering near BRO. He came by as soon DSP let him, apologizing (an extreme rarity with him, but he’s not a total asshole) and laid down with you in the makeshift blanket nest (after fussing over you like a mother bird to make sure you’re truly okay), wrapping his arms around you, careful to avoid putting any pressure on your left arm. HAL had left you two alone and you fell asleep like that. It had been too long since BRO had shown that much affection towards you; he was too busy trying to make DIS bend back to his will.

 Now you were really homesick. That not so nice little jaunt down memory lane was exactly what you didn’t need right now as you doodled on John’s window with one nail, glass squealing from the little smiley faces, eyes, and other creepy shit you scratched into it. On impulse, you carve a sloppy _hello john_ right in the middle where he’s sure to see the next time he opens the curtains. You even write it backwards so he can read it easily from the inside. It’s very considerate of you. You’re considering adding a couple dicks because, c’mon, that’s a classic, but then you catch a glimpse of KitKat or whatever his name is, walking (really more of a jog) towards the entrance of the building, not even looking into this alley as he passes by. Time to bail. You let go of the windowsill and drop to the ground to make your way back home (not really your home) from John’s window the way you’d done for the past couple of days after antagonizing him for a couple hours every night/early morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anybody didn't get it:  
> BRO12-395 = Bro  
> ADS12-395 = Alpha Dave Strider  
> DIS12-395 = Dirk Strider  
> HAL12-395 = Lil Hal  
> DSP4-310 = Davesprite
> 
> Their transmuations are for the most part the same as Dave's, except for Davesprite's. If you have any questions on their appearance or anything, just ask :)


	9. John: Get subjected to Dave torturing you for a few days ==>

Who’s Dave? You’ve never really known anybody named Dave. And you’ve already been tortured by the bird-thing for the past week.

You brush off that thought and go back to stressing.

You don’t think you can keep putting off going to work much longer; there’s only so many days you can be sick without people being suspicious, especially since you don’t get sick all that often in the first place. You want to leave your apartment, you really do, but you just… can’t. You’re too scared.

You’re going to though. You know you have to eventually, so it’s better to just get it over with, like ripping off a band-aid. You’re going to do it during the day; he’s only around after dark, at least as far as you know. You haven’t gotten a full view of the monster since that night, just glances here and there, and noises too. It’s somehow worse than if it just jumped out at you because you can’t tell for sure whether or not it’s really there fifty percent of the time. You thought you were going crazy the first day and the only way you could assure yourself you weren’t, was talking to Karkat. You pester him daily (mostly because he’s too proud to lower himself to starting up the conversation first and you indulge him because it’s kind of endearing, in an odd way).

Despite all his blustering, he was actually pretty decent, and enjoyable to talk to even; provided you could get past all the rants of course. They were kinda funny to listen to, to be honest, especially if you encouraged him to explain just why he hated something so passionately. It was a welcome distraction from your current predicament.

Unfortunately, Karkat wasn’t anywhere near unperceptive, and was already very in tune to you. He could somehow tell that your stress levels had been spiking as of late (even more than you first met), resulting in you cutting off conversations whenever he started to ask too many questions, merely offering a hasty sorry, gtg! each time. But you couldn’t do that this time. You groan with frustration as you try and deal with Karkat’s prying.

 

CG: LOOK, JOHN, ALL I’M ASKING IS THAT YOU NOT DISCONNECT AS SOON AS I ASK WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH YOU. YOU DON’T HAVE TO TELL ME ABOUT ALL YOUR PERSONAL FUCK-UPS, JUST DON’T IGNORE ME.

EB: nothing is wro|

 

You don’t even finish typing before Karkat’s next message pops up.

 

CG: AND DON’T YOU DARE SAY THAT NOTHING IS WRONG, BECAUSE WE BOTH KNOW THAT IS UTTER BULLSHIT, STRAIGHT FROM THE FATASSED MAN-COW ITSELF.

 

Goddammit.

 

EB: im not ignoring you.  
EB: its just not important and I don’t see why you need to know.  
CG: YOU ARE PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVELY IGNORING ME BY LEAVING WITHOUT LETTING ME EXPLAIN, WHICH CONSTITUTES IGNORING ME. I SEE RIGHT THROUGH YOUR ‘sorry, gtg’ EVERY TIME. AND YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE I SEE? THAT YOU’RE CHANGING THE SUBJECT.  
EB: i’m not changing the subject. isn’t all ignoring passive aggressive? it’s pretty much a given.  
CG: AND DENIAL IS JUST A RIVER IN EGYPT.  
EB: that’s not how you say it. its “denial isn’t just a river in egypt”.  
CG: I NOTICE YOU STILL AREN’T DENYING THE HORRIBLY FAILED ATTEMPT AT A SUBJECT CHANGE.  
EB: my not subject change worked flawlessly and you know it.  
CG: UH-HUH, YOU JUST KEEP TELLING YOURSELF THAT, JOHNNY BOY.  
CG: WHY DON’T YOU MAKE ME, JOHNNY.  
EB: fuck you.

 

You aren’t actually angry; you both know this.

 

CG: ONLY IF YOU SAY PLEASE.  
CG: JOHN? SHIT, I WAS JOKING. OH MY GOD. I HAVE NO IDEA WHY I JUST SAID THAT THING THAT JUST CAME OUT OF MY DIGITAL MOUTH.  
EB: uh, I knew that!  
CG: NO, YOU DIDN’T. IF YOU HAD, YOU WOULD HAD A SUITABLY SASSY REMARK WITHIN SECONDS, WHICH WOULD HAVE TRIGGERED LONG AND VAGUELY HOMOEROTIC BANTER LASTING A MINIMUM OF FIVE MINUTES NONSTOP.  
CG: BUT INSTEAD YOU WERE DUMBSTRUCK, STARING AT YOUR SHITTY PHONE SCREEN, FROZEN WITH APPREHENSION.  
CG: BECAUSE, HOLY FUCK, YOU THOUGHT I WAS FLIRTING AND YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO RESPOND.  
EB: no I didn’t think that at all!  
CG: YES YOU DID.  
EB: shut up!!  
CB: OKAY, I GET IT! SHUTTING UP IS NOW IN PROGRESS.  
[CG is typing...]  
CB: BUT IF I ACTUALLY WAS KINDA MAYBE FLIRTING, HYPOTHETICALLY SPEAKING OF COURSE, AND MAYBE EVEN WANTING TO ASK YOU OUT, HOW WOULD YOU POSSIBLY TAKE THAT, HYPOTHETICALLY?  
EB: I dont know, id be okay with it I guess, hypothetically.  
CG: HOW OKAY? LIKE THERE’S THIS SWEATY MOUTH-BREATHING PERSON SITTING NEXT TO YOU ON AN AIRPLANE AND TAKES UP TWO SEATS WHILE SNORING ON YOUR SHOULDER WITH BAD BREATH, BUT YOU’LL SURVIVE, SORT OF OKAY? OR MORE OF A, THAT WAS A REALLY FUCKING GREAT MOVIE, BUT THE SPECIAL EFFECTS WEREN’T ALL THAT GOOD, KIND OF OKAY?  
EB: …a little more enthusiastic version of the second?  
EB: hypothetically speaking, of course.  
CG: OF COURSE.

 

You two chatter for a while after that, resuming normal conversation and thankfully dropping the previous topic. The sky was darkening not much later and you began mentally preparing yourself for inevitable-

_Screeeeech._

Fuck. Yep, there it was. You had nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound, even though it was entirely expected. It was at your window, you knew, scraping and scratching the glass, gouging out random crisscrosses and adding a disturbing doodle here and there. You really hope it isn’t sentient, not so much for your sake (though that was a definite factor) as much as for its (maybe his, if “he” is indeed sentient) sake; it couldn’t be pleasant by any means to be like _that_. Maybe he just wants a friend, maybe that’s why he bothers you.

The fuck? Seriously, you don’t know why you thought that stupendously dumb thought. He tried to brutally murder you. Murder. That’s not how you tell someone you want to be their friend.  You go back to your now usual routine of talking with Karkat to distract yourself from the noises coming from beyond the closed curtains.

CG: ALL I’M SAYING IS THAT YOU SHOULD AT LEAST CONSIDER ONE ROMANCE MOVIE DECENT. SERIOUSLY, HOW THE HELL DO YOU LIVE WITHOUT HAVING SEEN AT LEAST ‘ONE’ THAT YOU LIKED.  
EB: sooo not my thing; action is good though, way better than proposal or whatever its called.  
CG: NOT EVEN THE PRINCESS BRIDE? IT’S A CLASSIC; EVEN YOUR UTTERLY TASTELESS CHOICE IN CINEMA MUST SEE THE APPEAL IN IT. NOTICE HOW I’M BEING SO KIND AS TO IGNORE YOUR GREIVOUS INSULT TO ALL ROMANTIC COMEDIES IN HUMAN HISTORY.  
EB: psh, drama queen. romcoms fucking suck and my movies are clearly superior. haven’t even heard of princess bride :P  
CG: YOU SUCK THAT EMOTICON TONGUE RIGHT BACK IN EGBERT. IT’S ONLY ONE OF THE BEST MOVIES EVER, AND IT’S ‘THE’ PRINCESS BRIDE DIPSHIT.  
EB: oh, excuse me.  
EB: ive never even heard of “the princess bride dipshit”. it sounds lovely. very sophisticated. wow. much romance.  
CG: YOU FUCKING COLOSSAL PIECE OF DOUCHESHIT. YOU DID NOT JUST UTTER THOSE WORDS. MY EYES REJECT THE BLUE UPON MY MONITOR, REFUSING TO ALLOW MY BRAIN TO SUFFER THROUGH FORMING THE PIXELS INTO WORDS. FUCK YOU.  
EB: as you wish ;)  
CG: I FUCKING KNEW YOU SAW IT. IT’S SIMPLY NOT POSSIBLE TO HAVE NOT TO. YOU COULD ALMOST SAY IT’S… INCONCEIVABLE.  
EB: yeah, no, i still haven’t seen it. did i accidentally reference it or something?  
CG: WAIT. SO IF YOU WEREN’T QUOTING IT, WHY DID YOU..  
EB: uh.  
CG: YOU EVEN USED A SMIRKY-ASS WINKING EMOTICON. UNLESS YOU WERE FLIRTING I DON’T SEE WHY ELSE YOU’D HAVE-  
CG: OH.  
EB: *awkwardly clears throat*  
CG: …WELL?  
EB: *continues to awkwardly clear throat*  
CG: *DECIDES TO INDULGE THE SHITHEAD IN HIS IDIOTIC ROLEPLAY FORMAT*  
EB: *has not stopped clearing throat*  
CG: *GETS FED UP AND SLAPS THE FUCKER ACROSS THE FACE IN THE HOPES HE’LL MAN THE HELL UP ALREADY AND JUST ‘SAY’ SOMETHING FOR GODS SAKE. SERIOUSLY JOHN. I WON’T JUDGE.  
EB: hey! you broke character!  
CG: I ‘AM’ THE CHARACTER, DICK-FOR-BRAINS. I NEVER BREAK CHARACTER, IT IS PHYSICALLY IMPOSSIBLE.  
EB: fiiiiiiiine, ill allow it.  
CG: YOU’RE SO GRACIOUS.  
EB: well, so maybe i said it flirtily. is flirtily even a word?  
CG: ..WANT TO COME SEE A MOVIE OR SOMETHING WITH ME? I’LL PAY FOR IT.  
EB: i don’t really feel like going out right now. how about you bring the princess bride over to my place? i wont even say how terrible it is until after its over.  
CG: REALLY? I MEAN, UH, WHAT TIME SOUNDS GOOD TO YOU?  
EB: whenever works for you, you could come here now if you want; ive got the day off tomorrow.  
CG: NOW WORKS. AND TOMORROWS SATURDAY; I THINK I’D BE ABLE TO GUESS THAT YOU WOULDN’T BE WORKING. SO, NOW AS IN RIGHT FUCKING NOW, SOON AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE?  
EB: sure! i mean, if you want.  
CG: I’LL BE THERE IN TEN MINUTES.  
EB: great!  
EB: <3  
\---carcinoGeneticist [CG] is no longer online and could not receive your message---  
ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG]  



	10. John: Enjoy a nice date with Karkat ==>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Accidental and awkward boner at an embarrassing time. Ensuing awkwardness is a main focus for this chapter near the end.

You can’t do that; he’s not even here yet.

As soon as you logged off Pesterchum, you realize that you’d just invited Karkat to your apartment. While the bird-thing was still there. You’re fairly confident that it won’t hurt him though; it hasn’t gone after you in the last week, even if it has been scary. To be honest, despite your fear, you’re just getting a little pissed off now. Who is he to rule your life to the point where you’re afraid in your own home? You should just open up that window right now and give him a good whack with a broom.

The thing is, you’re still scared.

Before you can think about your shitty situation any more, you hear a knock at the door. You almost didn’t hear it, it was so soft. Maybe Karkat had the pre-date jitters too. Did this qualify as a date? You hope so.

Opening the door, you’re greeted by Karkat shoving a bouquet of red and blue flowers in your direction. You fumble with it as Karkat hastily explains that if they’re doing the date thing, he’s “going to do it properly, like a goddamned gentleman.”

You’re relieved to hear that this was in fact a date and not just you misinterpreting things. You set the flowers down on the counter; you’ll put them in some water later.

Karkat starts up the movie and you two make yourselves comfortable on the couch after you flick off the lights. In the beginning, the movie wasn’t so interesting, a bit clichéd with the romance stuff, but when you glanced over at Karkat he was totally engrossed in it only couple scenes in, giving you the perfect opportunity to study him without fear of the redhead teen noticing your stares.

His eyes are red. A dark maroon, nearly brown, but still red. You hadn’t noticed them the first time you two had met, probably because you were a _tad_ preoccupied with just having escaped death’s clutches. Karkat is dressed more or less the same way as a week ago, albeit slightly cleaner, with a loose faded gray hoodie and plain jeans; the gold earing is absent from his person. At least this way you didn’t feel bad for not dressing up or combing your hair. When Karkat starts making little comments on the pure genius of the movie you try and start paying attention to it and not him, mostly because you knew he’d quiz you on it later and ask what your favorite parts were. Plus you also wanted to be able to form a decent argument on why it’s so obviously terrible and not even close to being one of the best movies ever, as he claims it is.

When the swordfights and witty one-liners start, surprisingly, you begin to enjoy it. It’s almost a miracle that there is a single movie in existence that both you and Karkat can agree isn’t entirely bad. As the plot progresses you edge ever so slightly to the left and a tiny bit closer to him. You jolt back when you bump into Karkat and realize he’d been doing the same. He clears his throat and pointedly looks back at the movie, daring you to comment as a light flush colors his cheeks. You give a lopsided smile in return and take his hand in yours, emboldened by his actions. He jumps a little but otherwise shows no more reaction than a tiny smile as the movie plays on, the characters now fighting their way through a deadly swamp.

Eventually the credits start to roll down the screen and you peel yourself away from the couch to stretch your now slightly cramping muscles. You honestly weren’t used to sitting all that much; blame it on having to take care of young children most of the time and being full of additional energy anyway.

Karkat stands to take out the CD and snaps shut the case, turning to you. “So what’d you think? I bet you thought it would be horrible,” he said with a smug smile. “Did I prove you wrong?”

You pretend to think on it for a moment, brow furrowing in concentration. “Nah, it was still pretty crappy.”

“No fucking way, you _know_ that was one of the best bloody masterpieces in cinematic history! It took the classic love story and gave it new life, not to even begin to bring up the intricate backstory, subplots, and subtle references towards old fairy tales!”

You half-heartedly hide your widening grin with the back of your hand. His rants are so much better in person.

“And you can shove that smile up your ass, Egbert, don’t think I can’t see that fucker, you shitfaced maggot,” he growls, crossing his arms defensively.

You don’t try at all to hold back the laugh that bubbles up, much to Karkat’s chagrin.

He scowls. “What?”

You shake your head, still smiling, “Nothing, you’re just kind of adorable like this you know.”

It has the desired effect on him, shutting him up for a few seconds before he grumbles, “Piss off, I’m not cute. I am five and a half feet of pure wrath.”

“Five and a half feet is stretching it a bit don’t you think? I’d say you’re maybe five feet tall, if you wear high heels.” Now you’re purposefully antagonizing him, not that you weren’t before, but now he knows it.

“Are you a masochist? Because you are deliberately needling me and I’m beginning to think you actually _like_ getting yelled at until your ears bleed.”

“I’ll pass on that, thanks.”

The boy glares at you a minute longer, still clutching the movie case, until you waggle your eyebrows suggestively at him. He swats you on the shoulder with it playfully and you snatch it out of his hands, dancing out of reach as you hold the movie above your head.

“Give it back! I swear if you don’t give it back right this instant I’ll-“

“You’ll what? Bite my ankles? Not sure you’re tall enough there Karkles, don’t strain yourself,” you tease, backing up onto the sofa as he gets closer. You wave the case in the air for good measure.

“Oh it is _on_.” His eyes narrow as he lunges for it, trying to crawl over you. Your arms are longer, so really, all you have to do is wrap your legs around him and keep the movie out of his reach. The red-eyed boy just digs an elbow into your stomach and nearly manages to grab it, sending the two you tumbling off the couch and onto the floor, barely missing the coffee table. You land on your back with Karkat straddling your waist and pinning both your arms. He whoops triumphantly and snatches the plastic case away, grinning.

You raise your eyebrows at him when he doesn’t move from his current position on your hips. “What?” he asks, not seeming to notice the issue at hand, unless of course that really is a pen in his pocket. You cough and tilt your head downwards. Karkat practically leaps off you, abandoning his hard-earned movie on your chest, and you have to hold back another laugh, not wanting to embarrass the poor guy any more; he already looks like he’s about to run out of the room. He pulls the edge of his hoodie about as far down as it’ll go, which is pretty far actually; one of the benefits of loose fitting clothes. Karkat glares at the floor like this is all its fault and murmures a barely intelligible apology and awkwardly shuffles his feet, entire face flushed more than you thought was really humanly possible. He mutters something about suddenly remembering he needs to meet someone somewhere.

You allow yourself an eye-roll as you sit up, “Forgot your date with a certain Miss Palmer?”

He gaped at your forwardness then hissed, “Shut the fuck up! It’s not funny!”

“I dunno, I think it’s pretty funny,” you wiggle your eyebrows at him again, a smirk playing over your lips. You stand, picking up the movie case as it falls to the wood floor. You turn it over in your hands and read the back. “Rated PG, hardly boner worthy, don’t you think? Then again, the guy in the mask was pretty hot.”

He grits his teeth. “Shut. Up. Or I swear I _will_ kick you in the dick.”

You hold up your hands in defeat. “Sheesh, it’s no big deal. I’m just glad you like me that much,” you say as you continue to waggle your eyebrows. Eyebrow wiggling is now a thing you will do around Karkat as much as possible because holy shit look how flustered he is. You think that flustered Karkat is absolutely hilarious, though you think you’ll take a teensy bit of pity on him now. You gesture towards the bathroom door. “You can use the bathroom if you want, I won’t hold it against you.”

“No! Jesus fuck I’m not going to…you know, in your bathroom!”

You raise a single eyebrow. You knew practicing that in the mirror would come in handy one day. “You can cuss me out using the most graphic and sexual descriptions I have ever heard in my nineteen year old life, but you can’t even say the word masturbate seriously?” You duck to avoid Karkat throwing a pillow at you.

“Fuck you!”

“As you wish,” you say reflexively, grinning ear to ear as you realize the reference you just made. “Huh, I guess I did accidentally reference the movie before. But seriously, you can actually use the bathroom, and I meant to just, you know, calm down.”

Karkat just huffs and stomps into the bathroom and slams the door shut, red faced and shouting through it, “You fucking ruined it John, you could have politely pretended nothing happened, but no! You just had to bring up my dick, wait shitfuckingchrist, I didn’t mean it like that!”

You snicker, “ _Sure_ you didn’t.”

The door opens just long enough for him to flip you off and slam the door closed again.


	11. DS12-395: Be normal ==>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's short, but it's better this way in the long run.

Normal? You are perfectly normal right now, for you anyway. Sort of.

Something felt off as you darted back into the safety of your park, a knot of reasonless worry resting in the pit of your stomach. You ignore it and use the bench you had put John on a week ago as a step up as you climb to your usual spot among the trees. You aren’t really paying attention to your motions, all reflexive by now, and even though BRO always taught you to stay aware of your surroundings at all times, especially home turf, you are so out of it now that you don’t even notice that one of the tree limbs you use as a regular foothold is missing, your foot catching on nothing but air where wood should be. You fall, having been in the middle of transferring your grip to another branch.

Your wings connect with the ground first, the right taking the brunt of the blow. You can’t hold in a scream as the bone snaps under your weight and lays at an angle that you don’t want to even think about correcting. Your extra appendages always hurt, a fact of life for you, but never like this. It’s like someone has driven icepicks into your back then decided to hook those up to car battery. Your single scream of pain manages to rip open a couple stitches on your face and mask (you really shouldn’t have opened your mouth), only adding to your pain and some fresh blood to your already grisly appearance.  

You try and get to your feet to relieve the pressure on your broken wing, but you can’t even roll over because of the extreme angle at which it is bent. To add insult to injury, some blood feathers are broken, meaning if they aren’t plucked they’ll be like tubes shoved under your skin, directing your blood out of your body with no chance to clot. Put simply, you’ll die.

You’ve managed to fall behind a thick (and thorny) bush under the tree, on the side opposite the bench. It’s late and tomorrow is Wednesday so there’s little chance someone will stumble upon you. You aren’t sure if that’s a good thing or not. Either way, everything hurts and you just want to pass out. Which you do within the next minute, despite your (used to be) high pain tolerance.


	12. John: Do the saving thing ==>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This is where the violence comes in, as well as some other psychological shit that happens off stage.

John. You know that name. Where though? You usually had a damn good memor- oh.

Yes. You remember him. Been a couple years since you’ve caught sight of that little guy. He was cute.

Probably grown a bit since then, grown into those buck-teeth of his, gotten taller, maybe even gotten a smidge a muscle on the skinny frame of his. Too bad you’ll probably never see him again. You were normally on high alert, especially so around your prey, especially so around John, but he still managed to get away; his house was bare by the time you realized something was amiss, and a sign on the lawn read: for sale by owner. Not a trace of the pretty raven-haired boy.

He was your only hunt that had ever gotten away from you. Then again, he was the only one you ever got truly invested in, emotionally. Sure, there is always a certain bond that forms between the hunter and the hunted, it’s one of your favorite parts of the kill in fact, but it didn’t compare to what you had with John. With most, you simply observed, tracked, and ended; with John, you watched, you waited, you touched, you _tasted_ , but never killed. A nip or scratch here and there, none but you and John were any the wiser and you already knew John was yours; he never told another soul (do you even have a soul?) about what went on when the sun set and all eyes were turned elsewhere. Practically asking for you to keep coming back, hell, he stopped trying to run away from your mandatory cuddles after just a few times.

A pleasant distraction John was, an amusing toy, an exquisite pet. You loved running your fingers through his hair (so soft, like a rabbit's). You'd thought about stealing the blue-eyed boy away and keeping him all to yourself, maybe get him a collar or something to mark him as the pet he was, but you knew in the long run it'd be better to let him live with his only living parent, at least for now.

But he got away, all because you thought you’d let him celebrate his fifteenth birthday with his dad instead of you. He took that gift and threw it in your face, disappearing entirely while you contented yourself on his special day by indulging yourself in a bit of fresh human meat. Yum, you especially like it when they’re still alive and screaming, feeling the fight drain out of them through the many wounds you inflict upon them with your teeth and nails.

You think it is a waste to use traditional weapons for killing when you already have such lovely built-in tools at your disposal. Sharp incisors and long serrated metal claws; what more could you ask for? You had first found your taste for blood when, well when you first tasted blood to be honest.

It was a squirrel, an adorable fluffy thing that had been shooed into your and ADS12-395’s room long, long ago (room wasn’t really the right word though; it was more of a habitat). You had taken an instant interest in the tiny creature, quickly warming it up to you in a matter of days to the point where you could feed it little nuts and stuff from the palm of your hand. It would come up to you as you knelt with food in your hand for it, resting its little paws on you and sniffing you before it began to eat. You and ADS12-395 never really saw eye to eye and at the time unfortunately, there was nobody else, so you talked to the squirrel. Pretty pathetic, but it wasn’t like you could keep a diary and it was nice having a furry little pet follow you around.

You and ADS12-395 got in a fight one day. You don’t remember what, probably something stupid, but it was brought up that you were weak, that as a soft spot in the armor, you should be eliminated. You said that you were the stronger of the pair and you would prove it, you could do anything he could and more. You ate those words. You had outright refused his request at first, saying it was too far and completely unnecessary; you could perform any other task ADS12-395 set out for you and he knew it. He said that was exactly his point; you cared far too much about the small animal, and it needed to go. If you didn’t do it, he would, as slowly and painfully as he wanted (which would be as long as possible with ADS’s sadistic streak), and after making you watch, he would kill you too. Dead weight isn’t welcome. If you killed the poor thing though, it would be quick and painless, a broken neck. Your brother watched as you whistled for the squirrel. You had lifted up your hand after it climbed on and the animal didn’t so much as flinch, that’s how much it trusted you. You wondered what it would feel like ripping the life from it using nothing but your bare hands. You’ll find out soon enough you had thought to yourself. You had looked over at your brother who nodded his encouragement, and it was like a fucking switched got flipped in your brain. You ripped apart that squirrel and ate it as ADS12-395 cheered you on, giving you a high-five after all that was left of it was the blood you licked off your lips. Once he was out of earshot you puked. You cried for hours afterward, running off to the small burrow you had started that was little more than an almost cave a few feet deep, not very wide and just enough to squeeze into. You let the greyish tears drip down the sides of your mask, a hand clamped tight over your mouth as you shook, lest ADS12-395 hear you. You hadn’t cried because the animal you called your friend (aka Cal) was dead, no, you cried because you _liked_ killing it, loved the feeling of it being ripped apart, savored the taste of its blood on your tongue. It was terrifying.

ADS helped you get over it though. He called it exposure therapy or something, basically assisted you in becoming as much as a sadist as he was, killing as much as your captors could throw at you, to revel in the pain of others. You’re glad he did; it made killing him all the more enjoyable years later.

But your thoughts are back to John now, your unattainable prize.

Maybe not so unattainable now though, because even after your wandering across the country and eventually into Washington, you’d know that scent anywhere. It’s John, mixed with something you haven’t smelled in even longer. Is that..?

You jerk to a halt on the edge of an apartment building, one of the nicer looking ones, teetering on the cement ledge as you inhale deeply, eyes closed. It is.

Dave.

You’ve always called him that internally, ever since you found him asleep and wrapped in a blue blanket, placed in your, DIS12-395’s, HAL12-395’s, and DSP4-310’s enclosure. You didn’t think it was right to call him by something _they_ named him,  DS12-395 printed on a paper bracelet around his wrist. Dave was what you named him, though you never told anybody that.

Dave is what you smell now and like fucking hell you aren’t tracking your baby down and having the happiest goddamned reunion with him. Screw John for now, you’re getting Dave back.

You leap off the tall building and spread your wings; no time for being discreet, you’ve got to find Dave.


	13. John: Do the saving thing now ==>

The saving thing? You aren’t sure what that means. Nobody is in any danger, not that you know of anyway.

Unless you count yourself as you walk through the near empty street that borders the park of course. Then you’d consider yourself in a little danger. But you knew it was better if you got over this as quickly as possible. It was light out and you would be fine; you’d never heard or seen the monster in daylight. The sun had only just cleared the horizon though, so now that you’re already out, you’re realizing it (he?) might still be around. You should go home now.

You accomplished your goal to go outside and face your fears, that’s enough for now. You walk a bit quicker as you near the section of the park that you had been attacked in. You’ve almost passed it when you think you hear a scream in the distance. You pause and glance around, but there’s nobody in sight so you shrug and figure you must have imagined it; it was a very faint noise after all. A car passes by much faster than it should and sprays water at you as it drives through a muddy puddle, getting you all wet and dirty despite having been on the sidewalk. Ugh, just great. You’re definitely going home now.

Then you hear it again, the scream, though now that you’re listening, it’s not quite a scream but more of a screech, like a noise Zillyhoo would make. It peters off near the end, then stops entirely. You think it came from within the park. You turn in the assumed direction the sound came from and debate entering. On one hand, monster, on the other, an animal could be injured and if you leave it could die if it’s hurt bad enough. You only hesitate a moment before slowly walking onto the grass and towards the trees, ignoring the squelching noises the muddy lawn makes beneath your sneakers.

You can hear a soft whimpering now, with occasional.. peeps? You aren’t sure what would sound like that, but now you’re sure it’s an animal and probably injured. You are slightly nervous about approaching it as the noises are coming from near that tree you had woken up under, where you almost got killed.

You edge forward nonetheless, and see- is that a foot sticking out of that hedge? You do a double-take and that is most definitely a foot. Shit, it was a person, not an animal you heard. You rush forward and yank off your jacket, wrapping it around your hands so you don’t scratch yourself on the thorny bush as you move the branches to the side.

You hear a hiss of pain as one of the branches you pull at catch on something. You can see the person now and you go still.

It’s not a person.

John: Mentally blue-screen ==>

Ah, right. Of course it’s the monster. What else would it be with your lovely luck?

What should you do? Something in your gut says not to scream and for some reason you remain silent as you stare at the bird thing. It’s bleeding. More than when you first saw it, you think, but it had been dark out so that might be normal for it. The backwards bent wing certainly isn’t though, and it’s badly broken. The creature is lying on its back on top of its wings. That looked painful, as did the broken stitching that held the mask to its face.

It doesn’t seem to be fully conscious, lying limply, but is more than awake enough to feel pain. This is confirmed when you nudge the side of his wing slightly with your foot and he cries out, flinching away from you. You really wish it didn’t seem so pitiful because, damn it, you felt sorry for the bastard.

You kneel down to the bird-boy’s level, wondering if the “don’t approach an injured animal” rule still applied.  Either way, you can’t leave him here.

You bite your lip anxiously as you reach forward ever so slowly to run your fingertips over his arm, carefully avoiding going near the viciously clawed hand that more closely resembled the foot of a bird of prey than a human hand. His skin is rough and scaly, again, resembling that of a bird. He twitches away from you, but can’t move much, presumably because it hurts too much. Fuck.

You’re going to help in what little way you can right now, then you’re calling 911 and letting whoever will come do the rest. You move forward a bit and take a breath. “Sorry, but this is going to hurt.” You lean down and wrap your arms around the injured boy’s waist, trying to pull him up into a sitting position to take some of the pressure off his broken bone. He gasps and grabs onto you, nails scratching you in the same spots as before that had only fully healed a couple days ago. You grit your teeth and manage to roll him onto his stomach, no easy feat, he wasn’t anywhere near lightweight. He pants from the clear effort being made not to scream, shaking and still clinging to you, now by your wrists instead of your shoulders.

You try and pull away but he’s still a little stronger than you, even in this weakened state. He tightens his grip on your arms, talons pressing dangerously into your inner wrist, not quite enough to break the skin, and you know it’s probably in your best interests not to resist whatever it is it wants of your right now. So you just stay there with him as he catches his breath somewhat.

After a minute of terrifying indecision, he suddenly struggles to his hands and knees, releasing his hold on you. You’re so surprised for a moment that you don’t even try to jerk away and put a safer distance between the two of you. Once you’ve regained your wits, you don’t have the chance to escape because the now significantly more dangerous bird-boy seizes you by the collar of your shirt and drags you closer to him, your face nearly colliding with his mask. Up close, you can that most of the stitching around the lower half of the mask has become more undone with all the jostling. Still maintaining a good grip on you, he reaches the same hand up slightly and pulls back just enough of the part of the mask covering his mouth for you to see a pair of grayish lips pulled back to show sharp teeth, just like, like- like the other monster that had stalked you back when you lived in Texas. Its face where the stitching had been, amazingly, wasn’t terribly mangled, just deeply scratched (or torn you guess) and bleeding. You can’t move as it swipes its snakelike tongue over its cracked lips and tilts its head so it could move even closer. After taking in a raspy breath, it puts its mouth by your ear and whispers a faint “ _Thanks.”_

Your heart nearly stops right then and there. But that’s not the worst of it as the blood leaking from its’ face drips off its’ chin and onto your shoulder, no, the worst part is when it leans back slightly to look at you for a second, then without warning, presses its’ cold lips to yours, tasting of ash and something rotten as it tilts its’ head once again so the beak of the mask doesn’t hit your glasses.

You are paralyzed. It pulls away from you, but you still can’t move.

The creature lets go of you again so it can better support itself, still watching you expectantly.

John: Flip your shit ==>

You flip your shit harder than you ever have before.

You curl your hand into a fist and punch the monster in the face as hard as you can, hearing a wet ripping sound as your knuckles connect with the mask. The thing screeches in pain, reeling back as you leap to your feet and stomp on its fingers. It sounds much angrier now as it emits a low clicking hiss/screech, sounding more like the raptors in Jurassic Park than any bird. It lashes out and you stumble back, barely escaping being eviscerated. You make a gamble and lunge forward, hoping it wouldn’t expect it. It doesn’t, and you grab at its injured wing, only getting a handful of long bloody feathers, but you yank them as hard as you can, making the bird-thing scream when they come off in your hand.

You turn and run as fast as you can then, getting home in less than a few minutes. The elevator is out of order so you take the stairs to the second floor two at a time and race to your room, slamming and locking the door behind you. You turn around to face the window from which the monster loved to scare you, and saw that the curtain had been blown to the side slightly. You go to shut it properly, and see something that makes your blood run cold. You pull back the curtain to make sure and there it is, etched in the glass: _hello john._


	14. BRO12-395: Go find Dave ==>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: The usual blood you should come to expect with BRO's POV, some make outs, and some ironic mentions of past sex, as well as BRO just being a kinky fucker.

You are searching as fast as you can, and so far you’ve found what appeared to be Dave’s main residence, a decently sized park that’s mainly comprised of trees, benches, and paths that cut through the thick shrubbery. The only part of it that even remotely resembled a playground was a swing-set and a small slide, meaning there probably weren’t that many kids that visited, keeping the place nice and quiet most of the time. You were just passing through on your search for Dave, but this place was permeated with his scent, attracting you to it instantly. You can see why he chose it, though you personally would have picked something a little more private and dark, like the sewer. Plenty of rats for a quick snack down there too. (You don’t actually need to eat for some reason or another, but you still enjoy it.)

Unfortunately, it seems Dave isn’t present at the moment. You naturally gravitate towards the largest tree in the park, wanting to simply wait there for Dave to return. You find some of the lower branches can’t quite support your larger weight, one even snaps right off under you. Luckily you had your nails digging into the bark and didn’t have much trouble hauling yourself up to the next tree limb, which was stronger than the last and lets you quickly maneuver into a comfortable position with your wings folded neatly against your back. From the scratches scattered across the bark, you could tell Dave had been here and the thought relaxes you slightly. Now to wait for Dave to come back. Shouldn’t be too long since the sun was already setting; he typically had liked to sleep during the night rather than the day the way you preferred. You always had been a relatively nocturnal person.

You wait. And wait.

It’s been an hour or two and now it’s fully dark out, just the way you like it. Dave still isn’t back and you’re getting stiff. You are fully aware that if you try and sleep here you’ll fall off and break your wings or something, which would be a spectacularly shitty way to go. You normally would sleep during the day, but due to you placing Dave higher up in your priorities than sleep and spending all day looking for him, you’re worn out, but you really do have to sleep. You can’t wait here so you’ll just have to come back in the morning for Dave, as soon as you woke up. You are hesitant but know that if Dave were here right now he’d squawk about how depriving yourself of basic necessities wouldn’t help anybody but the animals that’d feed off your dead body. You would laugh and tell him that he was overreacting, you could afford to skip a day’s worth of sleep every once in a while, ruffling his hair (which he hated you doing with a passion) and would do as he said anyway because you’d comply with pretty much whatever the brat wanted, provided it wasn’t harmful to the family. Not that he ever asked much of you, so he had no idea just how much power he held over you.

You need to find somewhere to crash. You don’t really know your way around here so you’ve no idea which places are most likely to have cops and shit hanging around. You’ll happily take on some poor sap that happens upon you, and while you could still easily kill a few armed people, it would put the rest of the force on your and Dave’s tail. You normally would fuck around with the residents here and there, leave a few “horrific and brutal” crimes in your wake for people to gawk at and call the work of a new serial killer or gang, just to watch people run about in a panic like chickens with their heads cut off. But amusing as it was, you couldn’t put Dave in danger over some petty entertainment.

You go with the default of sleeping in the sewers. It screws up your sense of smell, overwhelmed you the first time you tried it after making your getaway from Scratch Corp, but it’s a fair trade for the relative security the underground tunnels afford you. You slip down from Dave’s tree and only have a short distance to a manhole cover, right down the street that runs alongside the park edge. You see a curtain twitch in the window of a house that rested right up against the empty street, opposite the park, and you swear you see the glint of red eyes before the porch light flicks on and you’re forced to be quick about scurrying down the ladder you see once you move the metal cover out of the way. Pressing your wings close to yourself you crawl in head first, contorting your body once you’re inside so that you can reach up with one hand to pull the manhole cover back into place over you, the other hand on the metal rungs of the ladder to prevent you from falling. You turn back to facing downward as you make your way down, hooking the tops of your feet over the bars and supporting most of your weight with your hands below you. It’s not the most convenient pose, but if there is anything you don’t expect at the bottom of the ladder you can comfortably attack it first rather than be trapped in a compromising position.

You hear a familiar squeak from below you as you near the bottom and leap down from the ladder, pouncing on the rat and ripping out its throat with your teeth in one fluid, cat-like motion. You hold its carcass between your teeth as you glance around. You’re in a park of the sewer system that didn’t actually contain sewage, just junk that the maintenance guys used to keep things running smoothly. You still hear flowing water in the distance coming from the left where you could see the tunnel made a sharp turn, leading to the sewage if the smell was anything to go by. You sigh with partial contentment at being in somewhat familiar surroundings again, though part of you lingers on the thought of Dave.

Those eyes you saw in the window were red and reflective the way Dave’s were, tugging at memories of the time one of the tinted lenses on Dave’s mask had broken, letting you see his true eye color of a brilliant red, the color of freshly spilled blood instead of the light brown you originally thought they were. The pair of eyes you had seen weren’t the right shade of red to be Dave’s though, more of a maroon. Then again, your eyes used to be bright orange when you were younger and by now they had darkened to more of an amber color, so it wasn’t entirely unlikely that he had changed in the five years you’d been apart. You’re a little excited to how he’s grown. Okay, a lot excited if you’re honest with yourself. He was lean before, but if he’s anything like you or your brothers, he’ll have put on a nice bit of muscle by now and grown a few inches. You could go on for a while about what he might look like, but put simply, he'd probably be pretty damn attractive.

You gnaw on the rat for a bit as you think about Dave, the strange eyes dismissed from your mind. After you finish off the rodent, bones and all, you yawn and curl up against the wall, shutting your eyes and falling asleep almost instantaneously. You dream of eyes, red and blue.

BRO: Get woken up by John ==>

You jolt awake when the manhole cover clangs loudly, probably some idiot jogger going for a midnight run. Nonetheless, after waiting a few seconds you climb up the ladder and lift up the cover a couple inches so you can take a look outside. Your vision, slightly blurry from sleep, barely catches sight of a black haired boy in a t-shirt running around the corner connecting this street to the next. Normally the fact that he was wearing a t-shirt wouldn’t have even registered in your mind, but it was cold out today and any sane person would at the very least have worn a jacket or something.

You’re about to go back down so you can sleep again, but you realize that it’s not even close to midnight. More like mid-morning, the sun fully up. Shit. You overslept. You only meant to sleep until a little before dawn so you could get back to Dave’s roost without getting spotted, but that plan’s out the window now. You raise up the metal circle more, looking for any other people that would see you if you got on street level. The park is clear (it’s a cold Sunday morning so that’s no surprise), as is the street on either side of you. You grin at your luck and shove the lid to the side, scraping against the concrete as you pull yourself up and out, stretching before moving the cover back into place.

You don’t want to push your good luck so you’re quick about jogging over to where you’d waited for Dave before, grinning. Your smile drops when the sharp metallic smell of blood enters your nose. Your breath catches in your throat when you see Dave, lying in a pool of his own blood with his right wing bent at an unnatural angle, his form barely hidden from outside view. You have to hold in an anguished shriek as you run full tilt towards him, by his side in less than a second. “ _Dave!”_

You nearly sob with relief when he cracks open his eyes to peer up at you. You ask if he’s alright, which is stupid, he’s covered in his own blood and his mask is partially ripped off his face, but you both know what you mean. _Will you live?_

He nods slowly, wincing as he shifts on his stomach, trying to get up. “None of that, ya hear? You’ll just hurt yourself more, Davey. I’ve got you,” you gently place your hand on his arm, stopping him from struggling any more as he looks up at you in confusion. You realize your mistake now but it doesn’t really matter at this point. “It’s your name. Dave.”

He nods, seeming to accept it, breath coming in ragged gasps as you pull him carefully into your lap, fingers ghosting over his wings, not quite touching enough for Dave to feel it, but enough for you to access the damage. His broken wing has already started to heal but it needs to be reset (read: broken again) so it can heal properly, or else he’ll be crippled. You feel for broken feathers that need to be plucked, but you just come across one that needs to be pulled out, along with a scabby patch where a handful of feathers had been yanked out, probably all at one. You’re proud of him for managing to take care of that himself.

You murmur into his hair that this’ll only hurt for a second and Dave nods against you, wrapping his arms around you and hiding his face in your neck. You grasp the blood-dripping feather between two fingers, yanking it out with a quick tug. Dave bites down on your shoulder to muffle a scream, his teeth breaking your skin. You let out a quiet hiss on reflex but don’t mind; the jerking of the broken bones must have hurt like hell.

He unclamps his teeth and makes a whining noise in apology, leaning away from you. His mask is still twisted to the side (it’s probably better to just cut it off now than to try and fix it) and you can see his mouth, smeared with your blood and you’ve got to say, it’s a good look. Predictably, you have a thing for blood (and biting). Dave’s aged every bit as nicely as you thought he would, and you impulsively pull him closer and bring your mouth down to his neck, kissing up to his jaw and making him gasp. You aren’t sure if it’s because he liked it or because he didn’t and pause, waiting for his next move to determine your own.

You’re delighted when he clicks a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and moves his head so that you can better access his neck, even with your mask getting in the way of things. You nip lightly at the pale skin and Dave shivers. After you sufficiently cover his neck with kisses and the occasional almost-bite you pull back again, eliciting that frustrated sound once more from him. You shake your head no at him (despite still wanting to have him make those delicious noises again) and try to pry him off you. Dave clings to you and you want to relent but he yelps suddenly, his wing having been tweaked again, which just proves exactly why this was a bad idea right now. Especially in a public park in broad daylight. You might be a tad of an exhibitionist, but you weren’t crazy.

You whisper soothing words into Dave’s ear as you begin internally panic. With his wing the way it is, you can’t even smuggle him into the sewers; his wing is too fucked up for him to fold it properly so he can fit down the manhole. You can’t leave him here, he’ll get killed. Speaking of which...

“Dave,” you say in a tight voice, “what happened to you?”

He exhales and mutters “Nothing,” in your language.

You place a finger beneath his chin and raise his head, making him look you in the eye. “Dave.”

You only have to say his name and he tells you. “Look, it was really stupid,” he began, “I wasn’t paying attention like I should have, I fell, broke a bone and a couple feathers, that’s it. Nobody attacked me, so you can get out of mama bird mode now Bro.”

You would have bristled at the comment but it was true that you liked being protective. “Alright,” you say, chalking his brevity up to the pain the boy must be in. “Can you get off my lap now? As much as I like the position, I’m starting to lose feeling in my legs.”

Dave gives a slight breathy laugh, wincing again as he did so. He slowly back off, unsteadily standing before you. You get to your feet and offer your arm as support, which he gladly takes a hold of and leans against you. “So what now?” you ask him, pecking him on what little unmarred cheek you could get to.

“What do you mean ‘what now’?”

“What am I going to do with you? You’re incapable of resting or hiding in your usual spots, same with mine, and you aren’t going to be flying anytime soon.”

He looks guilty. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” Only he would try to apologize for getting a potentially life-threatening wound.

He looked about to protest, but decides against it when you give him a light-hearted glare.

“Actually, I know a place we could go if you’re willing to carry me up to a second story window.”

“Anything for you, princess,” you say, switching out the mock glare in favor of a grin. God, it was great to get back to the old joking around after so long. Seriously though, it was a relief to hear that he had a place to go, maybe an abandoned building.

“Just, uh, the current tenant isn’t exactly my biggest fan right now, so you’ll have to tie him up or something. Not kill him or anything,” Dave says it quickly, a burst of chirps, trills, and clicks.

“You.. revealed yourself to a human?” You try and keep the anger out of your voice, grin slipping from your face, not wanting to jump to conclusions.

“No! …Yes. Sort of. It just happened! He hasn’t told anybody at all, trust me I’d know, I’ve been watching him twenty-four seven, okay not quite, but you get the idea! He’s an absolute scaredy-cat; he only actually came out of his apartment after like an entire week of hiding! Sure, I didn’t exactly help with that, but I promise that if you don’t hurt him too bad I’ll keep an eye on him myself! It’ll be like one of those proving myself things where some rich kid whines he wants a puppy and the parents think he isn’t ready so they give him a goldfish instead, which he ends up flushing down the toilet. Except instead of a goldfish I get a human, and he doesn’t die ‘cause I’ll look after him and- ” you cut him off by pressing your hand over his mouth, avoiding the injured skin on his face. Holy fuck he sounded just like you had when you tried to explain to DSP why you kept hanging around John. You withdraw your hand from his face, having effectively shut him up.

Dave clears his throat and looks anxiously up at you, your expression deliberately unreadable. You sigh dramatically, “Fine, you little shit, but I’m spoiling you rotten.” You knew from your experience with John that it wouldn’t do any good to try and keep him from his new pet and if it meant you could keep Dave safe, you’d consent to going back to Scratch Laboratories on your own, so this is just fine.

Dave gapes at you. “Wait, are you being serious right now? No joke, you aren’t pissed that someone saw me? At all?!”

You just roll your eyes at his reaction. “Nah, I had a pet human of my own for a bit, ‘till he up and moved all secret like while I was out doing somethin’ else. He was the sweetest blue-eyed thing you’d ever seen. Still is, actually, I caught a whiff of him while I was looking for you yesterday.”

“Pet. You kept a person as a pet. Isn’t that just a little fucked up Bro? I mean, even by your standards.” He looks mildly disgusted.

“Oh shush your yapper, I didn’t kidnap him or nothing, just messed with him a bit, a scare here and there for laughs,” at this point you could tell he was considering your words, undoubtedly comparing your relationship with John to his with his pet. “Stole a kiss here and there, some cuddling too, just a little lovin’.” Dave’s about to interrupt again, but something makes him stop. You guess he’s already had a make-out session or two with his toy, so he knows he can’t judge.

“I suppose it’s alright then,” he says eventually.

“Good. We’ll hide out in the shrubs and shit until dark, then you can tell me the way to your boy-toy’s house and I can fix you up there.”

“Bro?”

“Yeah?”

“What are we?” You open your mouth to say that nobody fucking knows other than you’re better than humans, but Dave cuts in. “And I don’t mean species wise; I meant well, this is kinda incest, and I was wondering why exactly you felt the need to worship my neck a few minutes ago.”

You take a moment before answering.  “I love you to bits, plain and simple. Both family-wise and romantically. You didn’t have an issue when DIS and Hal got together for a while; they’re actually related, plus they weren’t exactly quiet you know.” You know Dave caught your double meaning when he makes a disgusted sound.

“Trust me, I know. Hal wouldn’t stop talking about it for weeks,” he shudders. You grin again, knowing this to be true. You’d actually had to ask Hal and DIS to shut the fuck up about their apparently amazing sex-life, and _please for god’s sake, warn the rest of us before screwing out in the open_. Ah, memories.

You continue, “And I’d be whatever you want, whether it be caretaker, brother, or lover, though I don’t see why I should limit myself to just one. So which one sounds best to you?”

He gets up on his toes to kiss you, both your masks doubling the amount difficulty you have as you flick your tongue over his lips, tasting your own blood on him, and like hell that wasn’t a turn on.

After a bit, the two of you separate, leaving the other equally breathless. You smile and raise an eyebrow at Dave questioningly.

He grins at you then says, “I missed you,” and whispers, “That last option sounds pretty good.” (Orat least what passes as a whisper in your language, really just lower and more warble-y.)

You and Dave turn away from each other, now focused on finding a place to hide out for the remainder of the day, though you still have to help support him.

BRO12-395: Be Dave ==>

You are the red-eyed boy.

You also happen to be the red-haired boy instead of this 'Dave' character.

You also just happen to live in a certain house across the street from a certain park due to certain reasons involving your mob-boss of a dad, Spades Slick. You will not go into great depth, or any at all on these reasons due to having promised Dad you wouldn’t blab about what he does under the metaphorical business table on the conditions you could stop moving every damned year and finally settle the fuck down.  Your one eyed old man had been giddy when you’d laid out your terms, saying it was “baby’s first blackmail, and shit, gotta get the damned camera so we can save this memory for later”. Weird old fucker.

But you don’t bother thinking over those things anymore, mostly because they are utterly useless memories at the moment, and therefore not your concern.

No, what your concern _was_ right now was the freaky fuckers making out in the park.

You’d seen the larger one last night when you’d opened the curtain in the living room an inch after seeing something big pass by, the wrong shape do be a car. You had been more or less disturbed by the winged whatever-it-is’s presence, having just walked back from John’s a few minutes beforehand. You also had multiple weapons of just about any kind you could care to name (which was quite a few thanks to your dad’s unusual brand of homeschooling) and training in how to use all of them. Your house was practically an armory and Dad was passed out on the couch with the poker channel playing on tv, so you were about as safe as could be. At the time, you dismissed the freak of nature as some street performer or a cosplayer, despite their motions looking far too natural to be faked. The crawling face-first into a manhole leading down to the sewer just added to the whole uncanny valley effect.

But now, after waking up late and heading downstairs to grab some coffee, you just witnessed some fucked up monster reunion through your kitchen window. You’ve seen some weird shit, that’s in the job description for being the son of the infamous Slick, leader of the Midnight Crew, but this was a new level of strange. And yet... yeah you can’t really find a single fuck to give if there are gay feathery assholes running around or not, as long as they don’t hurt anybody. Maybe it’s just because you haven’t had any caffeine manually injected into your bloodstream yet.

You chug your scalding espresso down in record time, waiting for it to take effect.

As your brain power gets up to functioning capacity, you remember that John had said he visits the park pretty often, albeit in passing conversation. And that the claws on the strange beings didn’t exactly point towards friendly, neither did the ample amount of blood that coated the monsters’ forms. You had kinda assumed the blood and shit were fake, along with the rest of the “costume”. But if you’re going with the theory that it’s not fake, then it stands to reason that neither is the blood. It was probably fa-

Nope, not fake at all, you think as you set your coffee mug down on the ugly countertop, watching the scene outside with a morbid fascination. The bigger one had caught a rabbit with alarming ease for using nothing but its (sort of) bare hands and tore it to pieces before tossing the smaller, injured one the remains, which it ate hungrily, getting blood everywhere.

You scribble down a note to Dad on a bright pink post-it note (courtesy of Ms. Paint, your babysitter before you outgrew needing one/Dad’s crush that he finds a hundred different reasons to invite over), saying you’re going out for a while but you’ll be home soon as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't proofread this very well, so feel free to point out any typos you spot.


	15. Karkat: Go outside to investigate the monsters ==>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short, but I've been having a serious case of not-in-the-mood-to-write, writer's block, and just a general sense of not knowing wtf to do with this now.
> 
> Also, wow! I can't believe this thing has got 3000+ hits and over 70 comments! I really appreciate it ^u^

 

 Hell no.

You make your way up the stairs as quietly as humanly possible so as not to wake up your dad (he was out late last night, as usual, and needed the sleep). You were already in clothes since you have a habit of not changing before going to sleep, if you even sleep at all that night, so you just grab a slightly different hoodie to wear today. Not that you had anything else to wear at the moment: laundry was your unofficial responsibility, along with most anything else in the house that needed to get done, and you’d skipped out on doing it when you should have just gotten it over with. So really, you have no one to blame but yourself, again, per usual.

Of course, that doesn’t stop you from being bitter about the lack of clean clothing, especially since you actually wanted to look nice for once right now. But it looks like the universe has other plans for you because literally the moment you step out the back door, on the side of the house not facing the park, you face-plant into the putrid brown muck that is the bane of your existence, otherwise known as mud.  You are now thoroughly smeared with the stuff.

You swear under your breath as you turn back around and yank off your now brown and white hoodie and wipe your face off on the clean-ish part, opening the door and tossing the article of clothing through it. You wince slightly as you remember too late that you just mopped the day before. Looks like you’ll have to do it again now. You briefly consider going inside to put on a well-used jacket to stave off the biting chill that had started up last night, but you don’t feel like it’s worth the work of digging through the hamper in the laundry room, mostly because you’d rather not touch your father’s ‘occasionally’ blood spattered clothing right now, and since you hadn’t bothered to separate yours and his, your clothes were probably just as bloody. Thank god for Wine Away™ or else you’d never have anything _not_ blood stained.

Or you could just put your clothes in a separate pile. You probably won’t out of sheer stubbornness. Yelling at him for stabbing people in his good clothes is much easier.

You almost slam the door shut, but stop out of consideration for stab-dad. You will not say how or why he gained that particular nickname, as it is somewhat self-explanatory, and that deal you have with him about not blabbing still stands. You might think about it later.

Gently shutting the thick door with a small _click_ as it locks behind you, you step around the puddle before you and are glad that at least your pants and hair are fine. You walk along the side of the house with your arms hugged around yourself, shivering a bit as you peek around the corner to get a look at what the freakshow across the street was doing, despite the (admittedly thin) turtle-neck you're wearing.

Your vision is unfortunately impeded by the trees surrounding the area and it’s more likely than not that from the front of your house is the only way to get a good look at the bird-things while they were in their current position. That’s probably for the best.

It’s also for the best if you hurry on your way; no telling if they’re friendly, but it’s a bad idea to risk it,  even if you’ve already got a knife safely stowed in your pocket, a switchblade Dad gave you for your twelfth birthday. You don’t go anywhere without it, per Dad’s orders. At first you though it was just because he was concerned for your well-being and wanted you able to defend yourself, but after a thorough examination of the finely-crafted knife, you used a fork to dig out the little electronic tracker in the handle. You still kept both the knife and tracer with you; stab-dad is no idiot but you’ve been careful, and if ever the need arises, you’ll be able to make a clean getaway with Dad none the wiser until he tries to find you in person. Never hurts to have a contingency plan after all.

If you were a normal person, you’d have called the police and have animal control come over to collect the freaks, but calling the police is a pretty big no-no in your household, for obvious reasons. While there might not be any proof that Dad is specifically involved in anything, it’s better for all involved that police aren’t snooping around.

You turn away from the park and take the long way to your destination, shivering and cursing your bad luck as you hugged yourself. Fuck rain, screw the cold, and to hell with all the idiots surrounding you in this place.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take too long to get where you want to go, despite taking a different route, and you welcome the pleasantly warm heating of John’s apartment building. You’re still shivering a little as you take the elevator up a floor. You’re having second thoughts now; should you have brought flowers or something again? Maybe it’s too early to be bothering John- no, you’ve pestered him earlier than this. Or rather, he pesters you because you don’t have the guts to contact him first and he lets that embarrassing fact slide.  He’s nice like that; your internet friend, Sollux Captor, would have teased you mercilessly for pulling that sort of shit with him. Thank god your feelings for him are purely platonic now. You don’t think you could handle the sarcastic asshole in all his glory as a lover. Besides, it would make interacting with Aradia, who’s now his girlfriend, far too awkward.

Aradia is Diamonds Droog’s kid. Nobody’s really sure how that happened; apparently he just showed to a meeting one day with the rest of the Midnight Crew with a kid in tow. Dad wanted him to send her home since “this sorta business ain’t for such lil’ dames” but Aradia had simply tugged on his pant-leg, and when he bent down to tell her to cut it out she grabbed his ear in a vice-like grip and said in a polite tone that she’d very much like to join the Midnight Crew like her dad. She had some serious guts, you have to admit, even before the age of ten. Dad decided having another brat around might be amusing, so he let her keep coming with Droog.

The elevator dings, and you step out on the second floor. Hopefully John’s not asleep right now. He probably isn’t, but you still worry you’ll be bothering him. The whole incident with you getting a boner  is still pretty embarrassing, but if anything, John was flattered, or so he said once he managed to get you stop hiding in the bathroom in shame. That entire thing was so his fault;  he just _had_ to grab the movie and make you wrestle him to the ground for it, all while being too attractive for his own damn good. Fuck him and his eyebrow waggling, literally. Well, maybe not _literally_ …

You elect to avoid continuing that train of thought until a later date when you’ll have some time to yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wine Away does in fact get blood out of clothing; I know this from experience. It's also recommended you soak said piece of clothing in cold water afterward.


	16. Illustrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not an actual chapter of the story, just where I will dump my nonspoiler-y drawings of this story. This is all I can upload right now, at least until my scanner works.   
> Also, not all of these will be strictly canon (to this story) designs, but I hope they'll make things a little clearer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I add something new here I'll say so in the notes of the next chapter I post afterward.

[ ](http://s969.photobucket.com/user/Hemospectrumeter/media/heinustuckdavespritebust_zps46c6646e.jpg.html)

Just a sketch of DSP from the waist up. I have a good full body pencil drawing of him, but I'll be scanning it later.


	17. Dave: Have a threesome with BRO and John ==>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly just write the first thing that pops into my head for the title and go from there.

What?! No! First off, your name is _not_ Dave! Secondly, you haven’t even _seen_ BRO since you were fourteen, five years ago. Third, you aren’t interested in John that way (it’s not allowed; would never work; he’s human, you repeat to yourself), and even if you ever saw BRO again, you doubt he’d ever reciprocate your feelings. Fourth, even the very idea of that disgusts you and is… oddly appealing. 

It doesn’t matter; you’ll probably be killed soon since you’re teetering on the edge of consciousness with your weight bearing painfully down on your wings, defenseless. Your injured wing feels as though it’s been set alight, white-hot pain injected into your system. You let loose another scream of agony. You couldn’t stop screaming if you tried. Your body doesn’t care that somebody could hear you, that somebody might find you; it keeps you awake long enough to utter a pathetic sounding whimper as your consciousness finally, mercifully, starts to fade back to blackness, void of anything that can hurt you.

Right as the blissful nothing is setting in again, you feel the hedge you’re lodged in move around you, jerking you back into your unfortunate reality as a thorn scrapes across your previously stitched cheek and draws blood. You hiss in annoyance rather than pain; you had been _this close_ to blacking out and escaping the pain and something just had to go and ruin it. The branches around stop moving and nearly sigh with relief (the movement jostled your broken wing; not exactly pleasant by anyone’s standard) but it’s short-lived when you feel something prod your wing in a way that wasn’t at all gentle and it takes everything in you not to scream again, flinching away from whatever it was.

You open your eyes slowly when you feel something (fingers?) brush lightly over your arm and you see none other than the boy whom you’d planned on torturing up until the day you killed him, leaning over you with concern written on his face. You jump slightly in surprise (and a little fear [he could turn the tables now; you’re at his mercy]). He’s biting his lower lip with those buck teeth of his, obviously thinking something over.

“Sorry, but this is going to hurt.” What? Wait, no stop! John what are you-

He doesn’t try and kill you, doesn’t stomp on your wing and laugh at your weakness. No. He carefully embraces you, trying to pull you into a sitting position. You suck in a breath of air through your gritted teeth as you grab onto his shoulders in an effort to get moving. You aren’t strong enough to keep yourself up yet, so you’re only rolled onto your stomach, still an improvement on your previous position. The black-haired boy tries to put some space between the two of you, but for some reason, you really, _really_ do not want him to leave you alone. So you cling pathetically to him by both his arms and he doesn’t seem to resist much with your talons now pressed against the veins in his wrists, letting you catch your breath in ragged pants as you lay there.

After you can think more or less straight and can breathe properly, you let go of John for a second and get to your hands and knees (you still can’t quite stand up). Before he can react and run away, you grab his shirt collar and tug him so close you could lick him if you wanted (which is not something you wanted to do; that’s just weird), and wince as you slowly peel back your blood-encrusted mask so you could move your jaw properly. You wanted to thank him for his help but, well, you don’t think you’ve ever even _spoken_ English before; it was impossible, or at least very painful before with the stitching keeping you from really moving your mouth correctly. Running your tongue over your dry lips, you take a deep breath and move just a little closer to John, tilting your head to the side so your useless mask doesn’t bang into his ~~adorable~~ face (nope, definitely not the time for that [shit he looks fucking terrified, like he thinks you’re going to bite off his face or something, not your intention but oh well]).

_“Thanks.”_

You move back, somewhat proud you managed to produce the strange-feeling word on your first try. Your lips almost twitch into a smile, and you suddenly find yourself kissing John for no other reason than you simply could, with your mask no longer blocking the way. He’s warm and tastes vaguely of coffee, but it’s pleasant, adding to that almost indescribable taste that can only be called _alive_ (a word you sometimes doubt can be used to describe yourself). It’s almost intoxicating and you have to pull away to allow yourself to breathe because you’re an idiot who forgets to breathe through your nose, but hey, it was your first kiss, you weren’t expected to be a pro.

You get back down on all fours so you don’t fall over.

John still hasn’t moved, that same shocked expression still on his face.

Is he alright? Maybe you should wave your hand in front of his face or somethi- _jesusfuckingchrist that is a fist in your face._ You reel backwards in pain screeching because your mask is now three fourths of the way off your face and goddammit he just stomped on your fingers what the hell. You lunge forward on reflex, slashing at his stomach, which, luckily, he dodges in the nick of time. And then grabs a huge fucking handful of your broken feathers, almost all of them in fact, and pulls them out with a single swift yank. Which, you might add, hurt like a bitch since said yanking was on your broken wing.  

Before you can do much more than scream, John runs full tilt in the other direction and down the street. You collapse, too tired now to do much of anything. You didn’t exactly expect John to swoon and fall into your arms when you kissed him, but you didn’t think he’d react so… violently either. Guess make-outs are where he draws the line.

On the bright side, even though you’re lying in a dark pool of your own blood, you’re on your stomach (not laying on your broken bones, yay) and no longer in danger of bleeding to death since John, despite his intentions, ripped out those broken blood feathers of yours that needed to be plucked and inadvertently saved your life.

So here you are, too weak to defend yourself when some idiot wanders through the park, finds you, whips out their cell phone, and calls animal control. You’re so screwed, but hey, at least now you can officially say you kissed someone before getting killed.

You jolt when someone practically screams in your ear, _“Dave!”_

You look up, blinking. It… it can’t really be him can it? You try to keep yourself from hoping, knowing it’s probably nothing more than a hallucination. BRO’s still back in Texas, locked away in the old lab you used to live in, along with the rest of your family.

He asks if you’re alright, which is stupid, do you look alright? But you both know what he really means. You nod.  If this is a hallucination, then it’s a remarkably realistic one; every inch of BRO in his six-foot-something glory is perfect. He doesn’t seem to have aged much, but his clothes are different and his mask is more worn than you remember. If this is just your imagination, then you’re going to make the best of it. You try to get up, but your brother puts his hand on your arm, stopping you. “None of that, ya hear? You’ll just hurt yourself more, Davey. I’ve got you.”

Who the fuck is Davey? “It’s your name. Dave,” he explains. You aren’t sure how to respond to your surprise renaming, or the cutesy nickname, but you decide to just go with it, nodding again. You certainly didn’t think that up, so maybe he’s real after all.  You really hope so.

BRO pulls you onto his lap and you can tell he’s making an effort not to hurt you as he lightly traces his fingers over your wings. It feels nice actually, especially since you haven’t had much contact in a few years, your kiss with John aside. BRO rests his head against yours and murmurs that something will only hurt for a second and you know that if BRO is saying it’ll hurt, whatever it is, it’s going to _hurt._ You shift in his lap so you can wrap your arms around his torso, using the moment as an excuse to nuzzle against him affectionately. Feeling him wrap his fingers around a single feather, you know what’s going to happen. That doesn’t make it any less painful when BRO rips it out, and you can’t help but bite down to try and silence a scream, and oh fuck you just bit BRO, you bit him hard enough to draw blood and make him hiss. You make a whining sound in apology as you let go of him but it’s too late he’s going to punish you for that you know it, shit, shit, shit, you are so dead, you are deader than- _fuck_ that feels good.

He’s kissing up your neck along your jugular, not twisting your arm or getting you back in some other painful way like you’ve seen him do to your brothers, and you gasp in surprise. Bro pauses, waiting for something and _goddammit don’t stop_ , you make a noise in the back of your throat and tilt your head, making it obvious you want him to keep going. You close your eyes, shivering when you feel him give your neck a light nip. You’re totally at his (admittedly lacking) mercy, and you love it. He resumes his previous actions, making sure to kiss every inch of skin, dragging his sharp teeth over your flesh every now and then, which really shouldn’t feel nearly as fucking awesome as it does.  You’ll happily take this over punishment any day. You click your frustration when he stops for no apparent reason, but he just shakes his head no. You shift again, about to protest, but manage to agitate your wing in the process, making you yelp.

You lean into Bro again as he whispers near unintelligible things into your ear and he strokes your uninjured wing in a way that makes you think he’s not even conscious of doing it (Did you just hear him say he loves you? You mean, it’s not like he’s never said it before, it’s just really rare). You’re content there in his embrace, at least until you hear Bro ask you what happened. You know what he’s referring to and it would be useless to play dumb. You answer appropriately. “Nothing.”

He tilts your head upward, making you look him in the eye as he says your new name. “Dave.”

Shit that’s the stern voice. You have to tell him now; if you don’t you’ll feel all guilty like you lied to him or something. You decide to omit John from whatever you say since you’d rather he keep his internal organs, well,  internal. “Look, it was really stupid,” you blurt, “I wasn’t paying attention like I should have, I fell, broke a bone and a couple feathers, that’s it. Nobody attacked me, so you can get out of mama bird mode now Bro.” Okay, so you lied a little, not like he’ll find out, no biggie. He did have a tendency to be a little overprotective of you in particular out of the family, and it could be annoying, even if you enjoyed the extra attention most of the time.

“Alright,” he answers, to your surprise. Normally he would have fervently denied existence of said mama-bird mode and pressed the matter of your safety a bit farther before dropping it at your request. “Can you get off my lap now? As much as I like the position, I’m starting to lose feeling in my legs.”

You give a little laugh at that and wince as you get to a standing position, still unsteady on your feet. Bro stands and offers you his arm, which you grab onto, and you lean into him again. “So what now?” he asks, his tone unreadable once again. You’re about to ask him something in return, but the winged man takes that moment to suddenly kiss you on the cheek for no apparent reason, effectively derailing your train of thought.  It takes a moment too remember what you were going to say and it comes out uncertain sounding.

“What do you mean ‘what now’?” you ask.

“What am I going to do with you? You’re incapable of resting or hiding in your usual spots, same with mine, and you aren’t going to be flying anytime soon.” He doesn’t sound accusatory, just matter-of-fact, but you still feel at fault since you’re fairly sure he won’t abandon you, and you’re already holding him back.

You don’t usually fly, in fact you haven’t flew in a few months, when you first got the hang of it. Too high of risk in urban areas like this and not worth being spotted over, so your injury wouldn’t really cause that much of a loss in mobility, at least it wouldn’t if you didn’t need to climb to get everywhere. You had considered going out to the countryside or something in the beginning, but to be honest, you liked it here. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

You wanted to argue otherwise, but Bro gives you a look that says now isn’t the time for that o you settle for just answering his question. “Actually, I know a place we could go if you’re willing to carry me up to a second story window.” You’re hesitant about approaching John, especially with what just happened between the two of you, but you can’t think of anywhere else to go. You just hope Bro doesn’t freak out about you letting John live.

“Anything for you, princess,” he says with a grin. Time to put that to the test.

“Just, uh, the current tenant isn’t exactly my biggest fan right now, so you’ll have to tie him up or something. Not kill him or anything,” you rush to add in the last part. You wouldn’t put it past Bro to kill John for the fun of it, even if you yourself can’t stomach the idea of killing the boy.

“You.. revealed yourself to a human?” You barely keep yourself from flinching at his tone. Saying he sounds pissed is an understatement. He might not _sound_ angry, per say, but you know what that deadpan voice means.

“No! …Yes. Sort of. It just happened! He hasn’t told anybody at all, trust me I’d know, I’ve been watching him twenty-four seven, okay not quite, but you get the idea!” You aren’t convincing him, you can tell. “He’s an absolute scaredy-cat; he only actually came out of his apartment after like an entire week of hiding! Sure, I didn’t exactly help with that, but I promise that if you don’t hurt him too bad I’ll keep an eye on him myself!” You would if Bro gave you the chance, though you know he probably won’t. “It’ll be like one of those proving myself things where some rich kid whines he wants a puppy and the parents think he isn’t ready so they give him a goldfish instead, which he ends up flushing down the toilet. Except instead of a goldfish I get a human, and he doesn’t die ‘cause I’ll look after him and- ” You don’t really know where that metaphor got away from you, but it doesn’t matter since Bro cuts you off by pressing his leathery palm over your mouth, and it doesn’t escape your notice how careful he is not to touch the remains of the stitching on your face. You clear your throat when he lets go of you, shifting your weight from foot to foot.

Bro sigh exasperatedly. , “Fine, you little shit, but I’m spoiling you rotten.” You stare at him, unbelieving. Is he for real? No long lecture on why what you did was exactly the worst possible thing you could have done? Maybe it’s some sick joke to get your hopes up, not his style, but still.

“Wait, are you being serious right now? No joke, you aren’t pissed that someone saw me? At all?!” You can hear yourself getting a little delirious, but you don’t care.

He just rolls his eyes. “Nah, I had a pet human of my own for a bit, ‘till he up and moved all secret like while I was out doing somethin’ else. He was the sweetest blue-eyed thing you’d ever seen. Still is, actually, I caught a whiff of him while I was looking for you yesterday.”

Did he just call somebody his pet? The implications of the word make you a little sick to your stomach. “Pet. You kept a person as a pet. Isn’t that just a little fucked up Bro? I mean, even by your standards.” He doesn’t exactly seem the type to use pet as a fond nickname, so you have to assume he means the literal interpretation.

“Oh shush your yapper, I didn’t kidnap him or nothing, just messed with him a bit, a scare here and there for laughs.” That.. that wasn’t too bad, you guess, if that’s all that happened between him and his so-called ‘pet’. You were guilty of the same with John, though for different reasons. When Bro interjects with, “Stole a kiss here and there, some cuddling too, just a little lovin’,” you almost protest, but quickly realize that, again, you were guilty of the same, at least as of late. Who knows what would have happened farther down the line? Maybe you were more like your brother than you thought.

“I suppose it’s alright then,” you say with great reluctance, though it’s really not.

“Good. We’ll hide out in the shrubs and shit until dark, then you can tell me the way to your boy-toy’s house and I can fix you up there.” Boy-toy is not the word you would use by any means. If that’s how he describes your ‘pet’ human, you shudder to think what he did with his. You decide to change the subject.

“Bro?”

“Yeah?”

“What are we?” He opens his mouth to answer and you can tell he’s going to give the whole ‘fuck if I know, but we’re still superior to humans’ spiel so you finish with, “And I don’t mean species wise; I meant well, this is kinda incest, and I was wondering why exactly you felt the need to worship my neck a few minutes ago.” To be honest, you’d kinda had a crush on him since, well, the very beginning. It was originally just a cutesy little kid crush, just following him around and hanging onto his every word, typical stuff, but somewhere along the line you fell for him for real. When you first realized this, you cut yourself off from everyone but Hal for a couple days, moping around with the knowledge that it was unlikely he’d feel the same way, especially with your age difference. You aren’t sure how old you were at the time, definitely a teenager by then, and you’ve never been quite sure of Bro’s age (not easy to guess with his upper face all covered up) but if you had to estimate, you’d put him somewhere in his late twenties, maybe thirty-two at most. You figured he’d be more interested in somebody closer to his own age, and maybe more… female. But maybe not.

“I love you to bits, plain and simple. Both family-wise and romantically. You didn’t have an issue when DIS and Hal got together for a while; they’re actually related, plus they weren’t exactly quiet you know.” You can hardly believe it for a moment and have to contain a very unmanly squeal of delight, covering it up with a sound of disgust when you catch Bro’s double meaning about DIS and Hal.

“Trust me, I know. Hal wouldn’t stop talking about it for weeks.” He really hadn’t. Throughout his and DIS’s brief relationship he had wanted to confide to you about all those extremely explicit details he couldn’t talk to anybody else about. While it was very educational in the subject of how to have sex with another person in possession of a dick, it was more than you wanted to know about DIS (you already knew too much about Hal; stuff like his kinks didn’t even phase you at that point. What can you say, you and him talked about some seriously weird stuff during your feelings-jams sometimes). You also weren’t overly fond of walking outside your sleeping area to get an eyeful of the twins having a two person party in their birthday suits.  

Bro doesn’t stop there, “And I’d be whatever you want, whether it be caretaker, brother, or lover, though I don’t see why I should limit myself to just one. So which one sounds best to you?” Did he really just say that? He did, and fuck it, you are head over heels for this man and now you’ve got him. Getting up on your toes to reach him, you put your hands on his shoulders and kiss him hard. You feel his tongue flick over your lips and you part them slightly, not entirely sure how to proceed. You feel him smile against you, and then you separate, breathless. You note with a sense of satisfaction that Bro’s every bit as breathless as you.

He raises an eyebrow questioningly, the smile still on his face. You smile back and answer, “I missed you,” then lower your voice to a hesitant whisper. “That last option sounds pretty good.”

From the way Bro’s face seems to light up at that, you know you’ve said the right thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's not much plot progression, but I wanted to show Dave's take on what happened between him and Bro. Plus I wanted it to have some fluffiness before all hell breaks loose.


	18. Dave: Be Bro ==>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The big confrontation happens next chapter, which will probably be finished soon since I've already got some of written. This chapter would have been longer, but I really just wanted to transition and show how the Striders escaped.

You have been and always will be Bro.

You and Dave eventually decided the best thing to do until it got dark was to just huddle in the underbrush together. So here you are, cuddling with Dave as best you can with his wing the way it is. Really, Dave is just back in your lap while you sit on the ground, arms wrapped protectively around him. Absently stroking his hair, you ask what happened to him. You feel him jump slightly in your grasp.

He just shakes his head then leans into you a little more heavily. You don’t ask again.

Instead, you tell him how you escaped, how the tension between family members only increased without him there to mediate, how you came _this close_ to killing DIS and would have eventually if you hadn’t all gotten out via a carefully planned massacre of the staff. You’ll tell him about that in a minute; first, you needed to fill him in a little on how things were after he was taken.

First off, the fights were more intense, and you didn’t mean the sibling stuff either. Not even close.  You were referring to how every now and again another freak like yourself was dropped in by the staff just to see who would survive longest when pitted against the other. Normally, it wasn’t a problem, almost entertaining sometimes (especially the cocky ones who think they stand a chance, boasting they’ll eat you alive, as if), along with the occasional freakaziod who’s so messed up that they just ask for death (you don’t get any pleasure from dealing with them, the poor things), but before you got out, you had some close calls. There had been a particularly screwy dame whose little plastic medical bracelet read LALONDE. You never could look at rose bushes or tentacles the same way afterward, ugh, or even cats for that matter. From the tattered remains of a lab coat that clung to the woman’s body, you’d guessed she was a scientist there, once upon a time. Figures they’d turn on their own kind. She’d been a real challenge, even with DSP, Hal, _and_ DIS helping out. She’d earned your respect, that was for damn certain.

After a slow buildup of general twitchiness and violence in your group, you got the luckiest fucking break in the history of ever. DSP had hatched one of most brilliant damn plans, almost too simple: just destroy every last camera in the near-airtight habitat (air was literally supplied by tiny vents that measured about five inches tall and wide, far too small for any of you to fit through) and eventually, somebody will have to come in to replace or fix them. You’d had to spread out the destruction, he’d said, or else someone might suspect what you were all doing. Make it seem like random acts of vandalism or anger. Even if nobody had come in, there’d still be a bit more privacy, which was more than welcome.

But they did come in, armed with tranquilizer guns with ammo strong enough to put down an elephant. They also were wearing Kevlar vests, which amused you since you could still easily go for the neck, as well as helmets and face-guards. Frankly they almost looked like a swat team. They knew what you all were capable of. Or rather, they knew what _you_ were capable of; most all of the fighting had been done by you, and you had a sense of style when it came to killing, your favorite methods including but not limited to: mauling, mutilation, eye-gouging (a very messy business with your nails; you were fully capable of driving the metal all the way through an eye-socket and into the brain, usually fatal), and evisceration.  Clean and efficient isn’t really your thing.

So naturally, they had their guts and faces covered, but they didn’t bother to cover the backs of their necks, the idiots. They had their throats protected of course (they’d clearly noticed your penchant for tearing them out with your teeth, heh) but you were more than satisfied with wringing their neck or slicing through it from behind.

The tranquilizer wasn’t a problem; Hal had a surprisingly good throwing arm, and armed with nothing more than a few good sized chunks of rock, took out a couple of the men and women from the trees. They hadn’t expected any ranged attacks, so their formation was easily broken, allowing you and DIS to slip in and kill the rest. It was the first time the two of you had worked together in a long time, but you both recognized a common goal and put your feuding aside for the brief moments needed to escape.

After finishing off the group, you all grabbed a key-card off the pseudo swat team, like the type used in hotels, and simply walked out the door (except for DSP, who slithered, but that’s beside the point).

Of course, it wasn’t that easy. All of you fought tooth and nail to get through the rest of the place. You would have just launched yourself out the nearest window, screw doors, but DSP didn’t have the benefit of functioning wings, so you’d had to find an actual exit, easier said than done. Luckily, absolutely nobody had counted on anything ever getting out, banking on the usual security to keep them safe, so once you got out of the wing of the building holding the other nonhumans it was smooth sailing, with the not-so-occasional person to be ripped apart along the way. You won’t bore Dave with all the details, but simply put, almost all of you got away with minimal damage to yourselves, except for DSP unfortunately. He’d gotten one of his wings completely fucking _ripped off_. He hadn’t stopped fighting his way out, despite his missing limb, and you and him stayed together when DIS and Hal had decided to go their separate ways after you escaped. Or rather, DIS saw his chance to get away and Hal was forced to choose who to stay with. You know it must have been hard for him, especially with how close he and DSP had become after Dave had been taken away. You have a vague memory of thinking that if only Dave had been there, he could have been free too, and Hal would have stayed for him.

You realize you’ve been silent for a minute and Dave’s staring at you now, so you continue your story.

After DIS and Hal had so rudely left (really just Hal, DIS was more than welcome to fuck off to wherever [though you still miss him a teensy bit, but you’re not going admit it], but you suppose you can’t blame him for wanting to stay with his twin) you and DSP had toured the countryside for a bit, snacked on deer and the like, overall pretty good living. The two of you started hanging around down South more often (DSP loved the hot weather; you preferred less concrete liable to burn your feet off) and strayed towards more human life than strictly necessary, until you found John.

He looked about fifteen or so, pretty cute if you said so yourself. You’d have preferred it he was older though, but not much you could do about your slight age gap (you weren’t sure how old you were, but you’d say somewhere in your mid-twenties). You didn’t have a thing for underage at all, but you couldn’t deny you were attracted to him.

You pause in your absentminded chattering when you realize Dave isn’t listening, staring stiffly at the ground and shaking slightly.

You aren’t sure what’s bothering him, maybe his wing again, but you comfort him nonetheless, planting a deliberately wet and sloppy kiss on his cheek.

He flails, making a disgusted noise and shoving you away from him. “Bro! What the fuck?!”

Mission accomplished.  You grin at his overreaction, then fake a hurt expression. “Just wanted to show a little love is all.”

Dave scoffs then leans back into you. “Gross old man.”

“Annoying little shit.”

Another silent hour passes this way, with your little brother curled up in your arms. You considered telling Dave more about what happened in his absence, but don’t on the chance that the thing upsetting him was your story, and you hate seeing him unhappy.

And now he’s falling asleep, head resting against your shoulder. So fucking adorable. But now the sky is starting to dim and you need to wake Dave up so he can tell you where his pet human is. You look forward to seeing him.

You hope Dave’s okay with sharing, because right now, a three way cuddle pile sounds fantastic. But then again, he had said that his toy wasn’t very welcoming at the moment, so you might not be able to do much but restrain the boy. A pity, but not much you can do about it.

You gently nudge Dave awake and he groans loudly. You smile and manage to wake him the rest of the way up after a few minutes.

He’s still a little sleepy and yawns as he directs you to a decent looking apartment building, and tells you which window leads to his pet’s place.

Dave protests when he realizes you really do plan on carrying him, but you quickly trump his argument with the fact that there is literally no other way for him to get in unless he suddenly developed the ability teleport in which case he better teleport both your asses in there right now.

Climbing up the side of the building to reach the window, you get a peek inside through a crack in the curtains and don’t see a single person, though the lights are all on. He’s probably in the bathroom.

You don’t pay any mind to the scratchings on the window glass, instead focusing on the lock at the bottom of the window-pane. You slip a slim claw between the window and the frame, nudging back the cheap locking mechanism. Easy. Slipping back down to Dave you start the task of getting him up to the window. With your wings, there was no way you could carry him piggy-back, so you have him wrap his arms around your neck and his legs around your waist. It’s still a challenge, and Dave’s wing is jostled by all the movement, but you still get to the window without many problems, sliding open the window and telling Dave to let go of you and go in first. He topples through the window and lands on his ass, but is otherwise fine and gets out of the way as you hop in, closing the window and locking it behind you.


	19. Bro: Meet resident of this lovely apartment ==>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of sudden inspiration, I wrote this chapter before finishing the one I had originally intended to have before this one. Unfortunately, I developed really, really bad writers block halfway through the other chapter. So I'll just keep up with this whole complicated timeline thing and post it once I finally finish it. To summarize it as vaguely as possible, John decided to get the fuck away for a few days, successfully evading the Striders before they managed to get in his apartment.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Near rape(almost happened, not dub-con), rape threats.

Gladly. He’s been gone for at least a day already and you’re getting impatient. The lights had been left on when you and Dave first arrived, clothes in the closet, and food in the fridge, which means when Dave’s pet had left in a hurry, probably to get away from him. Dave really should train him better. At the very least he should punish the boy in some way when he comes back.

Dave’s sleeping on the bed in the single small bedroom of the apartment, having claimed it immediately and leaving you the sofa, not that you minded of course; the sofa was already way softer than anything you’d slept on in a while. The door to the bedroom was shut, but not locked, and you were lying on the couch, idly tracing your metal claws over the wood floor and leaving thin lines in the shiny wood. That’ll probably be expensive for the owner to fix later. Oops. You don’t stop.

You sit up when you hear the knob of the front door being rattled as it’s unlocked. You glance up as the door swings open and someone flicks on the lights, already giving a little wave to the person before it registers in your mind who exactly you see.

You flash to your feet when he lets out a short shriek for help, easily cutting him off by shoving your mouth against his own and pinning him against the wall. You savor the moment before moving to nip at his ear. “Now, now, John, you really should put that pretty mouth of yours to better use than screaming, unless of course it’s my name you’re screaming.”

“Fuck. You.” John practically spits in your face, despite being utterly terrified. Not that his expression betrays this, no, it’s his pulse, racing under your fingertips, that alerts you to his fear

“Rude. Apologize,” you purr into his ear before raking your talons over John’s arm, not hard enough to make him bleed but more enough to sting. John hisses in pain.

He’s shaking in fear, like when you first started getting closer to him years ago. He’d stopped after a while, seeming a bit too numb to be healthy, but at least he wasn’t scared shitless after that. Looks like you’ll have to retrain him.

Or maybe not; it might be more fun to have him like this. ‘This’ being a rapidly more and more pissed off looking John Ebert who seems to be redirecting his fear into more anger. It’s kinda hot actually. You take this moment to properly look him up and down. John’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt remarkably similar to the one that had been his favorite back when you first laid eyes on him, a green slimer shirt that was just a little too tight, not that you were complaining. He’d grown since you last saw him, now just a few inches shorter than Dave, and had just a slightly slimmer build than Dave too. His jaw is more defined and there’s just a hint of stubble on there, the roundness of his face is pretty much gone, his skin is a few shades darker, and it hits you that this kid isn’t much of a kid anymore and damn is he attractive. Those wire rimmed glasses still look the same though, and it still makes him look adorable. Guess some things don’t change, even with the blessing of puberty.

“No.”

“It wasn’t a request John, apologize.”

“Guess I wasn’t clear enough, _Bro_ , go fuck yourself up the ass with a crowbar.” You raise an eyebrow at that; he certainly didn’t swear like that when you had known him.

You grab him by the hair and yank him away from the wall to throw him down onto the sofa, making him cry out, where you straddle his waist hold his arms above his head with one hand. You lean in close to his face, grinning broadly when he flinches away from you. “Guess I’m going to have to punish you then.” You leave a long scratch down John's arm, running  a single claw over the skin with enough force to leave a red mark.

He whimpers and you sigh, then remember an idea you had been toying with ever since you realized he was here. Perfect. It's hardly even a punishment in fact.

As you slide your hand down John’s chest he appears to realize your intentions and starts pleading with you. “Wait, no, no, please Bro I’m sorry!”

You let the grin fade to mere smirk. “Good boy. Now was that so hard?” Your hand stopped to rest on John’s hip, thumb tracing small circles over the skin revealed by his shirt bunching up.

He doesn’t answer you and you tighten your grip on him so that you just hint at piercing his skin. “I _said_ , was that so hard?”

John whimpers and mutters something.

“Louder.”

“No,” he answers, voice cracking.

“No, what?”

“No, it- it wasn’t so hard.” You can tell he’s holding back tears, and you reward him for his self-control with a few quick words of praise and a pat to the head, ruffling his already messy hair. You decide it’s more fun to break him back in, rather than let him continue disrespecting you. Not that you expect him to like you, in fact, you’d be worried about his sanity if he did. It’d be nice if he did though, would make some things much easier.

John appears relieved you don’t seem to want to continue anymore. Too bad; you do. You move your free hand again, shifting so you can hook his legs around your hips. His eyes widen in fear and he goes still, no longer squirming. “No, wait-!”

You cut him off. “You ever done this before?” You had never gotten more intimate with John than some exceptionally grope-y make outs and grinding, but who knows what he’d been up to while the two of you were apart.

He opens his mouth, then shuts it again, choosing instead to close his eyes and clench his teeth.

“I’ll take that as a no then.” You exhale. “Look, kid, this’ll be a hell of a lot better if you relax. Seriously, I don’t want you gettin’ hurt, plus it’s your first. You'll even enjoy it once you get going.”

No response.

You sigh again and lean forward to press a kiss to John’s forehead, then let up your iron grip on his wrists. His eyes flutter open but he otherwise doesn’t move, staring up at you. Looks like you have to do all the work yourself. You take his hands into yours, intertwining your fingers. “I won’t bite unless you ask, you know.”

He doesn’t answer and you can feel him shaking beneath you, breath coming in short pants.

You kiss his neck lightly. “I’ll lay here as long as it takes for you to relax, at least a little.”

“ _Please Bro, just stop, I’ll do anything but this, get off, stop!”_ He tries to yank his hands free. You’re much stronger than him so it’s no contest to who wins.

“M’not even doing anything yet. We've both got our clothes on, see? I'll go as slow as you need to get you comfortabl-”

“Bro. What. The. Fuck.” You look up to see Dave standing in the doorway to the bedroom.

“ _Please help me please, please, stop, just-”_ You cover John’s mouth with your hand and he doesn’t stop trying to talk around you.

“Just having a happy reunion with my pet. Why’re you up?” You sit up.

Dave’s expression is utterly neutral. “Because I heard yelling. Doesn’t seem too happy on his part.” He nods towards John, who’s now crying softly against your hand.

“Meh, he’ll get over it.”

“I think you should get off him.”

“Well I think I should get off in him.”

“Bro.”

“Dave.”

“I’m serious.”

“It’s my pet; I can do what I want with him.”

“He’s mine too you know.”

“I know; what are the odds, right? Both of us meeting him, first in Texas, now here?”

“Don’t change the subject; what the hell are you doing.” The way he says it isn’t a question, but you answer anyway.

“Well, I was about to fuck John, and I’d like to continue if you don’t mind, so either join in, watch, or go back to bed.”

“Actually I do mind. I think I’ll go back to bed now, and I’m taking John with me.” His voice is flat and you honestly can’t tell his emotions right now, other than royally pissed

You stare at him a minute longer then huff and get off of John, who immediately tries to scramble to his feet, but collapses to the floor, too shaky to walk right. Pity you couldn’t have him unable to walk right for an entirely different reason, but hey, Dave wants him, so he can have him for now.

Dave helps him to his feet and guides John into the bedroom, closing the door behind him with no comment.

“Be gentle with him!” You call after them. You don’t want him completely broken after all, but you trust Dave not to hurt John.

 

Bro: Be Dave again==>

You are Dave and jesus duckfucking shit you just walked in on your bro about to rape John.

You had to stop yourself from punching him as you persuaded him to let you have John for the night. Thankfully, it didn’t come to fighting (he would have kicked your ass) and now you have a sobbing Egbert curled up in your arms.

On your list of Things That Are Really Not Okay, rape would have to be at least a three, bare minimum, with one being the worst thing someone could possibly ever do. Murder, fine. Cannibalism, mutilation, and torture? Fine. But sexual assalt? Fuck no, not okay. Okay doesn’t want anything to do with that, okay has filed a restraining order and traveled to a new country with a fake identity to start up a horse farm, that’s how not okay it is.

Some people would probably find it funny that you can handle cannibalism but not rape, but you don’t think it’s funny at all. And it’s not technically cannibalism since you and Bro aren’t exactly human.

You’re going to have a nice, long, talk with Bro tomorrow about this. A talk in which you will calmly explain that if he ever tries to pull this shit again, you’ll rip off his dick.

It makes you sick to think that Bro was capable of such a thing, and that he saw absolutely no problem with it. Didn’t even have the decency to stop grinding against John’s ass when he saw you. You sincerely hope that that was the first time he assaulted him like that, for John’s sake.

(You don’t think about how seeing Bro act that way towards John sparked certain feelings in you. Namely, an extreme possessiveness of John, mostly because _how fucking **dare** he touch **your** John_.)

You turn your attention back to attempting to soothe John.

He’s sitting beside you on the (his) bed and leaning heavily against you as he sobs and hiccups into your shoulder, and you’ve got your arms wrapped around him, hands rubbing circles on his back as you make a shushing noise. You hoped you weren’t making things worse when you impulsively hugged him, but he seemed to latch on to you, getting about as close to sitting in your lap as he can be without actually sitting in your lap.

If he wants cuddling, then he’s going to get it.

You put your cheek against the top of his head and stroke his hair in what you though was a calming manner, but apparently not, because John tenses up the second your fingers come in contact with his head.

You stop immediately and murmur “Sorry,” then add, a little louder, “for everything I mean. Sorry.”

John wipes away his tears, then locks eyes with you for a minute before looking away and flopping down onto the bed. He situates himself so that he’s facing away from you and curls in on himself, hugging a pillow just a little too tightly. You can barely hear a faint “It’s okay,” mumbled into the pillow, even though it’s not. It’s definitely not okay.

You lay down next to John. “Is it alright if I touch you?”

He stiffens and you rush to correct your mistake.

“I mean, just to maybe unconsciously hug you and stuff! I’m a bit of a sleep cuddler and I thought I should give you some warning.”

He doesn’t respond for a bit, then hesitantly answers, “I’d prefer it if you didn’t, but I can’t stop you, so go ahead.”

You seem to surprise him when you simply say “Okay,” and lay down next to him, turning your back to him to lie on your side. Wings aren’t really compatible with sleeping on your back.

The room slips into silence and you could practically cut the tension with a knife it was so thick. After five minutes or so of it, you feel John roll over to face you. You don’t know what to expect, but it isn’t to feel his cold hand run down the length of your undamaged wing. The other one was currently held in an improvised splint after Bro set the bone correctly (that was even more painful than the original break had been) and a white bandaged patch where John had ripped out some of your feathers.

You jolt and John yanks back his hand, shrinking away from when you turn over to face him, like he expected to get hit for touching you. You try not to think too hard about who exactly made him develop that particular reflex. He’s looking anywhere but you, subtly trying to scoot away and put some distance between the two of you as he mutters something unintelligible.

“What?” Your voice is still pretty gravely, but at least it no longer hurts your throat to speak.

“Sorry.”

What the fuck does he have to apologize for? You don’t answer John, staring at him until he starts to squirm under your gaze and you wonder of he blames himself for what almost went down on the sofa. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault; Bro’s just a massive fucking douchebag who doesn’t know when to back off.”

“I meant for your wing and stuff. I probably didn’t help much a few days ago.” He actually sounds sincere, dammit, why must he be so pitiable?

“You kind of saved my life actually, even if you didn’t mean to.” At his confused look, you tell him about the broken feathers, and how he had saved you by yanking them out.

“Well, I’m still sorry.”

“Don’t be, I deserved it.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“Rude, apologize. That was the part where you were supposed to day what a fuckin’ delight I am.”

He blanches. “You stalked and terrorized me worse than Bro did at first! And then you just decided to kiss me, out of nowhere! You can’t just kiss somebody like that.” He snaps his mouth shut and turns back to hugging his pillow, clearly biting back another scathing comment. Huh, Egbert had a little more verbal bite than you thought.

You huff. “Sorry about that. I was conflicted about it if it means anything.”

“Sure, means plenty. You were conflicted, right, well, that makes it all better now doesn’t it? Oh lemme just forget about all that therapy I’m going to need if this hell ever ends; you’re _sorry_ , so I’ll be just peachy now.” You’re surprised by his sudden retort and don’t answer as he swears quietly before clutching his pillow tighter and burying his face in it.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Why can’t he just accept that? You have absolutely no incentive to harm him other than him starting to annoy you, and he is really excelling at that.

His voice is muffled at first by the pillow, but John turns over to glare at you while talking. “ _R_ i _g_ h _t_ , you just dragged me in here for shits and giggles, totally believable.”

You grind your teeth. You know what, _fine_ , you might be nice (nice being a relative term), but you’re nearing the end of your bullshit tolerance for today. “Do you _want_ me to fucking rape you, hm? Because you sure are trying your hardest to provoke me. If I were Bro, I’d already have you held down and your clothes ripped off.” To punctuate your words you sit up and pounce on John, snatching away the pillow and tossing it to the side before pinning him down with one of your knees pushed between his legs. You don’t really intend to do anything to him, but you had a point to make. (Plus you really like how he looked underneath you, completely under your control.)

Bro, of course, chooses that moment to stroll in like he owns the place. “Mind if I join?” You hate that stupid smug expression.

You want to punch him in the face, but that's not a good idea so you snarl, “Fuck off,” turning to properly face him, “he’s mine.” Bro raises an eyebrow at your aggression. You ignore it.

“Fine, but only for tonight Davey, then you’re sharing. Don’t be too rough with him. I'm talking tender, loving, care levels of niceness here.” And with that, Bro turns on his heel and exits the room, leaving you and John alone together. 

You look back down at John and you see that he’s crying. It’s just little sobs and hiccups as tears leak from the corners of his eyes, but it’s enough to hurt you when you know that _you caused this_. Not Bro, _you._ You’re becoming more and more like him every day, and suddenly, you don’t think that’s a good thing anymore. Shit. you had really lost control there, you hadn't even realized how on edge you were before.

You snap out of whatever that was and scramble off of John, pulling him close to you so you could wipe away his tears. He’s given up resisting you now, and it nearly breaks your heart to have him lying limp in your arms. “Shh, John, it was an act, I’m sorry. I had to keep Bro away from you and this was all I could think of.” You’re lying through your teeth to cover your ass (you hadn’t thought he’d actually burst in to tears when you held him down, jesus), but John seems to buy it, and that’s what matters. You assume the same position as when you were first comforting him, except this time he’s actually in your lap and you’re not complaining. “I swear John, if I had time to tell you, I would have, but I heard Bro coming and I had to improvise, I’m so sorry.”

It takes a couple of minutes for John to calm back down, but you know you can’t rush him on this. He’s still shaking and breathing raggedly but you think he’s over it for the most part. You feel him murmur something against you.

“Hm?”

He looks up at you. “I… I asked why.” Why? Why what? Why was he stalked by not one, but two freaks of nature? Why was he nearly raped by your brother? You have no fucking clue other than Bro is massively fucked up and you seem to have inherited it.

“Wow, I’m not sure I can answer a question that specific.”

“Why did you stop him?” He actually seems to not know why. That hurts. Does he honestly think you could be capable of walking in on that and not intervene despite your full capability of stopping it? Does he really think you’re that heartless?

“Why not?” You don’t feel like really answering many questions. Dealing with Egbert’s emotions is exhausting..

“Is that,” His voice falters and he repeats himself, “Is that the only reason why? Just a random impulse?”

“Actually I just didn’t want to hear you screaming anymore since I’d like to get some fucking sleep so please get the fuck off my lap so I can carry on snoozing.” You shouldn’t snap at him like that but what’s done is done. Better make amends while you can. John’s already virtually leaped off of you in fear. “Fuck, sorry.” You run a hand through your inky black hair. It’s getting pretty greasy and you wish you could wash it or something so it wouldn’t feel so stringy. “I’ve just been under a lotta stress, ya’ know? I get a little snippy if I don’t get enough sleep. I’m just taking my frustration out on you.”

John just huddles under the blanket, muttering that you should turn off the light so he can sleep. You get up to do as he asks, and lay down next to him, pleasantly surprised when he huddles up close to your chest after hearing Bro moving around on the other side of the door. Wrapping an arm around him, you feel him tense up, slowly relaxing as the boy eventually fell asleep.


	20. == > John: Wake up.

You wake up wrapped in a soft warmth- literally. Whatever it is, it’s super soft against your skin and you can’t help but make a small sound of contentment at the pleasant feeling and slip back into a surprisingly peaceful slumber for who knows how much longer until it’s gone, the sudden chill leaving you blinking back into consciousness on your bed, staring up at the ceiling while you wait for your brain to catch up with your body.

In the meantime, you glance over at the little clock you keep on your nightstand out of habit alone only to see that its cord has been harshly yanked from the strangely placed outlet halfway up the wall and there are scratches across the poor electronic timepieces face which remind you of the reason you’re still here, instead of back at Karkat’s house as the two of you had originally planned. You don’t know whether to lament or rejoice that Karkat hasn't come looking for you yet.

Luckily, your glasses are undisturbed, so you slip them on and stumble out of bed. You only hesitating a moment to psych yourself up to leave the room and possibly see Bro again. You hate him. You hate everything about him, from that leering smile to the way he makes your guts tie themselves into knots in fear every time he so much as lets his gaze pass over you. Last night, one of your greatest fears around him had very nearly come true, only to be saved (though likely only temporarily) by the other monster. It would seem that being so awful was simply a personality trait of Bro’s, not some part of his monstrous nature; that, or the second, younger monster was simply an anomaly. Taking a deep breath and trying to soothe your shattered nerves, you push open the door to the main room and peer out.

Bro and Dave- you think that was his name, knowing how Bro is fond of pet name and it’s unlikely his name is actually Davey -are curled up together on your couch, a mixture of soft chirps and harsher clicks coming from the pair. You grit your teeth and feel vaguely betrayed by Dave, even though it was stupid to hope that maybe, just maybe, someone would be on your side against Bro. You suppose Karkat would help you if he ever found out, but you’d rather your boyfriend not get mixed up in this mess if you can help it.

You can’t stop the exclamation of disgust that escapes you when Bro kisses Dave and he actually kisses back. You shut the door, not even trying to keep quiet now. Was last night all an act to gain your trust? Sinking down to the floor, you pull your knees up against your chest and focus on your breathing. Your main concern now is to stay alive, stay as safe as you can, and escape the moment you see an opening. Maybe you’ll take a page out of Dave’s book and play along with them until they start to relax, then run for your life.

== > Dave: Talk with Bro

You already did that, duh. You got him to concede that attacking John like that was a little uncalled for (though you have a feeling he only said that to appease you) and by some miracle, you convinced him to ‘give’ John to you, even if the thought of Bro seeing John as a pet made you more than a little queasy. Better than Bro keeping hold of him.

You were wary of his behavior ever since the incident with John- sex should be about trust and love, or plain old mutual pleasure, not to be used as a punishment -but you’d let him lure you into a cuddle session on the couch that had been on the road to a make-out session, at least until you’d heard John come out of his room only to slam the door behind him as he retreated. You can only imagine what he’s thinking right now. Pulling back from Bro, you untangle yourself from him and murmur a brief, “Hold onto that thought,” before pushing yourself up from the couch and exhaling. John was an adventure when you were just messing with him, and interacting with him properly is a whole other level, so really, it’s perfectly logical that you need to prepare yourself before turning the knob on his door.

Or trying to anyway, since it’s locked. You really should have expected that from him. “John, open up. Please.” There’s a muffled noise that sounds vaguely like an expletive or three.

Bro snickers. “He’s going to be handful, sure you don’t want my help retraining him?” You huff out through your nose. Yeah, that wouldn't help matters much, just make John even more scared of you; which was fine and dandy when you were trying to scare him to death, not so much when you wanted to earn his trust.

“I’m good. I just need a minute.” You turn your focus back to John. “Okay, John, look, I know you’re not thrilled about this, but I need you to let me in here. I’ll try not to bother you too much after this, I swear.” Technically speaking, you weren't lying since you’re the one who gets to define ‘too much’, not him. Five tense seconds tick by before John cracks open the door an inch and just barely peeks out.

“What do you want now?” He doesn't sound angry anymore, just tired and sad, his resigned tone tugging at your emotions. You have a sudden urge to push the door open the rest of the to barge in and sweep him into a hug, but then again, that’d only serve to further terrify him. He is a delicate flower you remind yourself, to be treated with as much care as you can muster without going totally soft.

Of all the things to come of Bro already knowing John, you think the fact that you don’t have to kill him is the best one.

You glance back at Bro before you answer, carefully selecting your words. “First I want to talk to you in private.”

“About what?” You don’t blame him for needing to know your reasons for wanting to be around him, especially not after what happened last night. Unfortunately, you can’t give him any good answers, not yet. “Just- just some things that need to be discussed, alright?” You don’t think you did a very good job at concealing your waxing frustration at the situation, or even letting it be known that you were more frustrated with Bro than John. You lean forward and place one hand on the door frame, using your other to push the bottom of your mask just enough to the side to let him see you mouth ‘about Bro’ to him. It would look like you were merely adjusting the fixture from Bro’s vantage point, nothing suspicious or out of the ordinary.

John doesn't react much, exhaling as he steps back from the partially closed door to make room for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait. Chapters are going to be pretty spaced out, but they will most definitely be longer than around a thousand words apiece. Please try to keep in mind I'm also juggling two other fic's chapters, as well as writing a particularly long oneshot. 
> 
> Also, going to give Bloodmaster a big update in around a month or less if I keep up writing at this pace.


End file.
